


The Corrupt and the Wicked

by herpatoidAcephalist



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Modern Girl in Thedas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herpatoidAcephalist/pseuds/herpatoidAcephalist
Summary: Antonia "Tony" Artura Dorotea Gonzalez: teacher by day, bartender by night, Herald of Andraste by unlucky circumstance. After an attempted robbery outside of her apartment ends in a stray bullet hitting her in the chest, she falls unconscious and wakes up in Thedas, the world of Dragon Age. Unfortunately, she has never played the games, and has nothing but her own intuition to guide her. Her intuition says that there are a lot of assholes in Thedas.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	1. Everything Happens So Much

Tony woke in stages. The first feeling was one of absent pain, which led to confusion. When she'd fallen unconscious, it had been a merciful respite from it, but now there was nothing left of it at all. There was a brief feeling of falling, disorientation that made her press her heels into the ground and jump. The jump was little more than a shake, and the chair she found herself sitting in scraped an inch back on the stone floor.

She opened her eyes to stare at the floor in confusion--the apartment she shared was fully carpeted, stone would have been easier to vacuum--before looking up and examining her surroundings. Stone walls. Iron sconces holding torches, most of which were not lit. Metal cages with closed doors, holding nothing within but empty beds that made her back ache just to look at them. Tony kept her eyes wide, willing herself to adjust faster to the darkness.

A door opened, and she immediately regretted opening her eyes at all, squeezing them closed once more. The light lanced through her eyelids, staining her vision red as she rapidly blinked.

Two incredibly unlikely women entered. One was wearing plate armor that clanked while she stomped. The other was wearing a sort of... Tony squinted at it. Maybe a dress? It was long enough to be a dress. Pants were involved, and boots. Also a hood, which covered up almost all of the woman's red hair. This woman crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unamused, and Tony returned her attention to the knight-looking person.

Just as the knight opened her mouth, Tony said, "Hello."

The woman jerked back, like a kitten that had been booped on the nose.

"Do you know where I am?" Tony squinted past the knight and the redhead to try to get a look outside, but there were merely stone stairs and more torches. "And why I'm wearing... this?" She held up her arms, which were imprisoned at the wrists in a sort of hands-exclusive stocks, like her fingers were criminals.

Moving her arms had been a mistake. First, the knight growled at her, which Tony did not care for. In the next second, there was a flare of lime green in her left palm, accompanied by a sharp pulse, as though she were being stabbed by an invisible knife. Tony let out a cry, more of surprise than pain, and let her imprisoned hands drop once more.

"Tell us why we shouldn't kill you now," said the knight. She was more in her element now, Tony couldn't help but notice. Maybe she was a cop.

Tony looked up at her, trying to guess what sort of response she was supposed to give. The complete lack of context kept her silent.

"The Conclave is destroyed," the knight continued, wind having fully returned to her sails. "Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

Tony did not know what a Conclave was, but she sensed the implied capital letter. She looked between the two severe women and decided not to ask.

"I'm sorry," said Tony. The knight sneered, and Tony continued, "I--that's not an admission of anything, but I am sorry. People've died?"

"Explain," the knight bit out, grabbing Tony's wooden arm prison. The jostling did not help the pain in her hand.

Tony swallowed another yelp of pain. "Please don't do that," she said in a rush.

"No one can be this stupid," said the knight. "Tell us what you know. What  _ that  _ is," she said, her anger gaining steam.

"I _ am _ this stupid," insisted Tony. "I don't know what's--I mean, I know that's not what you want to hear--"

The knight, her patience extinguished, kicked Tony's chair in the leg with her armored boot.

The redhead barked, "Cassandra!"

It fell back to the floor with a clatter, and nearly carried Tony with it. Tony stood up straight, incredibly surprised to learn that she had not been tied to the chair in any meaningful way. It was only then that she realized she was the shortest person in the room. Embarrassed, she knelt down, righted the chair again, and sat once more.

No one spoke for a tense moment.

"You did not try to run," said the redhead. "That is good."

Tony thought of many things she could say, and settled on, "Might as well die seated."

Cassandra the knight and the redheaded person exchanged a meaningful look that Tony could not decipher. The redhead took a step forward, and Cassandra retreated, scowling and red-faced, possibly embarrassed by her outburst. Cassandra was clearly the bad cop, and so Tony found herself relaxing a little when she gave her some space.

"Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

"No," Tony said immediately.

The redhead did not glare. Her forehead didn't go wrinkly, her brow didn't scrunch together. It was somehow worse than that. She stared through Tony, pinning her to her chair with the intensity of her scrutiny. Her gaze felt heavier than chains would have been.

"Oh," said Tony, distantly terrified. "Wait a moment--yes, I think..."

Cassandra snorted. Leliana didn't smile, but she also didn't stab Tony with her eyeballs, so it was an improvement.

The only issue was that Tony really didn't remember. There was no clear line, no narrative to the flashes of memory she did have. She remembered the apartment, the window shattering, and then being on a mountain for some reason. Mountains were not her scene, traditionally; she did not hike for fun, and only ran when chased. There had been a whole mess of green light, which also didn't make sense to her. Tony's truth was flimsy, and worse, she lacked the time and space to create a convincing lie. She was going to die because her dreams were dumb.

"I was running," said Tony, frowning. "I was being chased, so I ran up a rocky slope, and at the top there was..." She gestured with her hands, forgetting why that was inadvisable until there was another stabbing pain. "Jesus," she swore. "Sorry. He wasn't there. There was someone, though. They had a woman's voice."

"A woman?"

"No idea," said Tony. "But they had a woman's voice, and they were made of light, but not green light, which distinguished them from pretty much everything else. They reached out their hand, I think to help?"

Another important look between the two cops.

Tony shifted in her seat. "This all sounds like bullshit, of course."

"Not entirely," said not-Cassandra.

"Oh good," breathed Tony. "I don't know what else to say. There were a lot of, like, half-formed ghosty things, as well. Does that--is that anything?"

Cassandra sighed, an invisible weight heavy on her shoulders. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana," she said, and moved toward Tony again, who leaned back as far as she could in her seat. "I will take her to the rift."

Leliana turned to leave. "Bye," said Tony. Leliana paused, shook her head, and then kept walking away.

"I figured I was having a nightmare," said Tony as Cassandra released her wrists from the stocks. "I mean, you know. Me, mountain climbing? Kind of a giveaway." Cassandra gave her a look that was fifty percent confusion, fifty percent anger. Tony chose not to respond to that look, as the only response she could think of would be pissing her pants. She asked, "What did happen?"

Cassandra replaced the stocks with rough rope. Tony didn't know if she preferred it. She felt like she didn't know anything at all.

"It will be easier to show you," Cassandra said.

The air grew colder as they ascended out of the dungeon, and by the time they exited out into the world, Tony was shivering like a chihuahua. The wind picked up, tossing a flurry of snow into her face and whipping through her clothes as if they weren't there. Her boots, at least, withstood the snow. God bless Doc Martin, wherever he may be.

There was a hole in the sky, haloed with sickly green light. It flared, stoked by some celestial poker, and pain shot through Tony's left hand. The mark there responded to the evil aurora, flickered and burned in her palm. It felt like holding a pan's handle straight from the oven, and then being unable to put it down.

Cassandra was saying something, but Tony did not, could not, listen. She'd fallen to her knees in the snow, immediately soaking her trousers. She plunged her bound hands into the ice, trying to cool the green light she could not drop, but all she ended up with were blue-tinged fingers.

"It is killing you," Cassandra continued, hauling Tony upright again. "It may be the key to stopping this but there isn't much time."

"Stopping...?" Tony looked up at the glowing sky again. The evil northern lights gleamed back at her, a beautiful menace. "Oh. Got it."

"Come," commanded Cassandra. What could Tony do but follow?

They travelled through a depressing Renaissance Faire. There were no roasted turkey legs that Tony could see, and everyone was glaring at her. Tony, shivering and deeply confused, kept walking, trying to keep pace with Cassandra's marching.

"They have decided your guilt," she said.

"Popular choice," said Tony. "What did I do?"

Cassandra gave her a disgusted look. "You are the sole survivor of the Conclave. Our most holy, Divine Justinia, was taken from us by the Breach, as were any mages and Templars who could hope to reach a peaceful agreement. The people of Haven had hope, and they believe you have taken it from them."

Tony did not know what to say to that. She had thought the mountain nightmare had been bad. This--being the scapegoat for an unnatural disaster--was immeasurably worse.

The hike was awful, which did not make it unique among hikes Tony had been on. At least the uphill climb kept Tony's body heat up, though her sweat only made the wind feel stronger. Cassandra watched her, looking away whenever Tony tried to meet her eyes.

"Your clothes," Cassandra finally said. "You will freeze before we reach the rift."

Tony shrugged, or tried to. It probably just looked like more shaking.

There was a frozen pond, a circle of deep blue ice surrounded by a two-meters-high ledge. There were burlap sacks and crates, as well as...

Tony stopped in her tracks. There were dead bodies everywhere. Before, her eyes had been clouded with pain and watery from the frozen winds--she had thought they were rocks or something. Most of them were face down in the snow. Tony tried to be glad about that. It would have to be her silver lining, that she didn't have to look a dead man in the face.

Cassandra rifled through a sack and threw a blanket at Tony. Tony caught it--no, not a blanket, a cloak, one with a clasp made out of a loop of leather and a tooth the length of her index finger. She pulled it on--no easy feat, with her wrists still bound--and then continued along with Cassandra.

"Th-thank you," Tony stuttered.

"Why are you dressed that way?" She sounded like Tony had chosen the outfit specifically to annoy her.

"It wasn't snowing, earlier," said Tony. "I wasn't on a mountain." She sighed, her breath a puff of mist. "I don't know."

Things continued being shit from there. A bridge collapsed underneath them, and Tony hit every one of her limbs on the way down. It was a miracle she could stand, after. When she was immediately face to face with a monster, she decided that it wasn't a miracle, after all. Maybe this was limbo. Maybe, someone somewhere was feeling torn about how exactly they wanted her to die.

"Stay behind me!" Cried Cassandra, unsheathing her sword. Tony had not been planning on anything else. Unfortunately, Cassandra did not attract all of the monsters to her, and Tony was face-to... face? Something. If it had a face, it was facing Tony, and it was rapidly approaching.

Tony ran. Her cloak whipped up behind her like a cape, letting out what little heat she had been able to trap inside. Her boots slipped on the ice, so she dashed for the upward slope, bound wrists held to her collarbone, fingers clinging to the wool of her cloak. The monster moved like a snake about to lunge, and Tony's feet struggled to conquer the thick, fresh powder.

"Cassandra!" She screamed, beyond terror. "Help!"

There was a roar, followed by the ring of metal slicing through air. The effect was spoiled, in Tony's opinion, by the hissing, squelching noise of Cassandra slaying the monster. Tony did her best not to fall to her knees again, but it was a close thing.

"You," said Cassandra, horrified. "You could have--why did you not defend yourself?"

"I don't want to die like this," said Tony, looking Cassandra in the eye. "I've been cooperating, right? I didn't run. I told you what I saw. I'm cooperating, so you--you can't let me die here."

"I will not." She looked annoyed with herself, as if she hadn't meant to promise anything. She cut through the rope at Tony's wrists, finally letting her free. "Stay close."

Tony did, all the way up another steep slope, but Cassandra was moving quickly. Wherever they were seemed to be entirely composed of uphill climbs. Tony was nowhere near fit enough to run up a mountain and chat at the same time. She focused instead on not falling too far behind Cassandra, and calling out whenever she saw a demon Cassandra might have missed.

They met up with a group of fighters that Cassandra seemed to know. Tony hung back behind a turn in the road, watching as they disposed of the monsters with the sort of efficiency that Tony would have expected from a rehearsed dance. There was a short man with a crossbow, and what appeared to be an elf with a magic staff. Tony was in too much pain to believe herself to be dreaming, but reality was making quite the case for her madness.

Once all the monsters were gone, the elf ran to fetch her, leading her by her raw and bruised wrist to the relatively small green cut in the air. "Quickly! Before more come through!"

The sensation was like pulling a hairball from a shower drain, only moreso, and terrible. There was suction, some sort of resistance and pressure, combined with the throbbing heat of the mark on her hand. When she pulled her hand back, breaking the lightning-like connection between her and the rift, the rift disappeared. She looked at her hand, not daring to hope. She had been right not to; the mark was still there.

The elf looked at her hand as well, bizarrely serene. Tony had lost count of the number of impossible things she had seen that day, and yet this man's calm demeanor was threatening to break her composure entirely.

"Hello," she said. She felt she had to say something, and it was all she could manage on short notice.

His eyebrows raised slightly. "Hello," he said. His voice, when he was not using it to shout, was deep and smooth. "You arrived just in time. I was beginning to tire of dispatching demons."

Tony flexed her fingers, fighting against the wince of pain it sparked. Demons, then. Not monsters. "No worries. How did you do that?"

"I did nothing," he said, gently amused. "The credit is yours."

"Okay." She swallowed. "I mean, it'd be nice if I knew... how I did that?"

There was a brief discussion about the Breach and rifts and demons that Tony did her best to follow. She gathered that the mark on her hand was a tool to close these demon portals, which was good, and that it was stuck on her hand, which was bad. She was bruised, freezing, and entirely out of her element--she found it was easier to nod along instead of asking clarifying questions.

The short man--the very short man, Tony saw now, a four-foot-nothing brick shithouse of a person--stepped forward and introduced himself. "Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

He then winked at Cassandra, which she did not seem to appreciate.

Tony extended her hand to shake Varric's. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Antonia Gonzalez. I don't have, um. A list."

Varric's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he accepted her hand and even managed a light laugh. "Polite one, aren't you?"

"Terrified one," she corrected.

"Traveling alone with the Seeker, I don't blame you. Speaking of--what's next?"

He and Cassandra began a conversation that was mostly her yelling and him smirking. Tony wondered if there was something romantic going on there. It was very Sam and Diane.

The elf with the nice voice and insane composure turned to Tony. "My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I'm pleased to see you still live."

Tony extended her hand to shake, but saw that both of Solas' were on his magical staff. She slowly brought her hand back into the warmth of her cloak. "Same here. Demons almost punched my ticket a dozen times on my way up."

Solas tilted his head, as if he weren't certain he had heard her correctly. "I am not familiar with that phrase."

Tony sighed. "No, you wouldn't be, right? Just... thanks, for the magic, and the demon dispatching."

"Not at all," he said, and would have continued, were it not for Cassandra's loud, angry sigh at Varric.

Solas smiled. "It seems we are moving on."

"More uphill?"

"No, actually."

Tony sighed in relief. "Thank God for small favors."

Varric was far chattier than Cassandra had been, which made things seem to go quicker. They descended the snowy mountain together, Tony hanging back to be by the magic user and the guy with the crossbow.

"So," Varric started, "with a name like that, you've gotta be Antivan. Why no accent?" Tony shrugged and shook her head. "Come on, it's gonna bother me otherwise."

"Long story," she said instead. "Not sure how it ends, or how much sense it makes."

"I make my living off stories," he insisted. "Try me."

She looked over, and saw he was smiling up at her. No one had been that warm since she woke up in chains. It was so disarmingly friendly that she nearly tripped into a snowdrift.

"Whoa there," he said. "My mistake. I forgot the effect I have on women."

"Sorry," she said. "Just." She frowned. "Wearing a shirt like that, and you  _ forget?" _

He laughed in two bursts, first in amusement, second in response to his amusement. "You are all kinds of unexpected, Antonia."

"Tony," she corrected. "And so's... everything about all of this, really."

"No shit," said Varric. 

There was more fighting, more green light, more pain. Tony did her best not to fall behind, but she was as accustomed to snow as an octopus to the tuba. Her boots were not meant for such prolonged exposure to the elements, and her socks were soaked through. She felt, and doubtless looked, like a drowned rat.

"Hold on, Seeker," said Varric. "Damn your long legs. I need a rest."

Tony felt her face flush, which was embarrassing. "Look, you don't have to--"

"No, no, I'm serious," he said, leaning down as if catching his breath. He'd never lost it.

"Varric," Tony said, too tired to hide the edge to her voice. "I just want to get where we're going."

Only then did he look up. He was smiling. It was unbelievable, but he was. When had Tony stopped being a prisoner?

"Ask Cassandra to carry you," he offered. "It'll be funny, and she might even say yes."

Tony was at a loss. She'd woken up in a dungeon, for God's sake, didn't he know that? Just because her wrists were not currently bound did not mean she was any less of a perceived criminal. People had died, and other people thought she had done the killing. There was no reason for him to be nice to her, and every reason for him to keep his distance. Was he being stupid?

"You're too kind," she said. "Literally. Stop it."

He shrugged. "Just don't fall into another snowbank, all right? My eyes are up here." He chuckled. "So to speak."

After all that, Tony put her head down and focused on her breathing. Time passed--minutes? Hours?--and they managed to arrive at another green sky-tear, followed by a bridge. Tony, heretofore unimpressed by the stability of bridges in this place, stepped gingerly.

"Well done," said Solas, in praise of her second successful rift-ectomy.

"We made it," said Varric. "Take a break."

Unfortunately, that was not to be. Leliana was there, as well as a bunch of dead bodies and an incensed man wearing red and white. His name was Chancellor Roderick, and in many ways, he was a return to form.

"As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution," he told Cassandra.

Cassandra did the kitten-boop thing again, a small jerk back, before leaning in once more. "Order  _ me?" _

"More yelling," Tony muttered. "How does she find the energy?"

"She has spirit," said Solas.

"Don't talk about her like she's a horse, Chuckles," Varric said, _ sotto voce. _ "She doesn't like it."

"And you," said Chancellor Roderick, pointing at Tony. "I don't know who you think you are, but you have gone far enough."

Tony took a deep breath, trying to relax her shoulders with middling success. Finally, someone was making sense. "I agree."

"You--" He stopped, momentarily at a loss for words. "Explain yourself, prisoner."

"Tony," she corrected. "My name is Antonia Gonzalez. I'm from California. I don't know how I got here, but it involved green light, a mountain, and a woman's voice. I woke up in a dungeon this morning, as you probably know. I'm not a fighter--I can't use a sword or magic or anything like that--and I just ran for a million years. I want to vomit to death. It would be  _ wonderful _ if I could stop here, Chancellor, and you're a wonderful man to suggest it."

Roderick sputtered, and Cassandra cut in. "You can't! We must push forward and close the Breach. The mark on your hand--"

"Is a complete unknown," said Roderick, back on even conversational footing.

"It has closed-- _ she _ has closed every rift we have come across," argued Cassandra.

Well, apparently her own execution was not the way to end this bizarre order of events. Still confused about the taxonomy RE: Breach versus rift, she spoke up. "Chancellor Roderick, Seeker Cassandra wants to seal the sky, and thinks the mark on my hand could do it. I have very limited experience closing rifts, I'm sorry to say, but I do have one bit of good news: it hurts."

Cassandra stared at her. "That's good news?"

"Sir," she continued, "if I survive this, feel free to ferry me along to Val-wherever. But if you want me dead, all you have to do is nothing."

Roderick frowned. Perhaps it was the only expression he could make. Stranger things, et cetera. He shook his head, and returned his attention to Cassandra. "You must sound a retreat."

The brief spike in adrenaline left Tony drained. "Look, I'm just gonna..." Tony wandered over to a wooden crate, tested it with her boot for strength, and then sat down. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." Her leg muscles were on fire. At least she wasn't freezing anymore.

There was an argument about soldiers, and valleys, and temples--Tony wasn't particularly trying to listen. She let her eyes slip closed, and might have even managed to fall asleep if she hadn't felt eyes on her. She opened one eye a slit, and found Solas staring.

"What?" She cleared her throat, immediately shamed by her curtness. "Sorry. Something wrong?"

"That remains to be seen," he said. "I have never heard of a place called California."

She shifted her weight and felt her spine pop. "Eh. You wouldn't have."

"You have said that before," he stated. "I have travelled far. It is rare that I have not at least heard of a... city? Country?"

"State," she said. "It's west."

"How far west?"

"Very," she said. "I don't--I'd have to look at a map, Solas. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful."

He shook his head. "It is nothing. We will have time to discuss this later. When you do not wish to... 'vomit to death,' as I believe you said."

"Don't hold your breath," she replied.

"What do you think?" That was Cassandra, and she was looking at Tony.

Tony looked between Solas and Cassandra before admitting, "I'm sorry. I--what?"

"The mountain path is fastest," started Leliana, just as Cassandra said, "There are two paths from which to--"

Tony was being asked for an opinion she did not have. "I don't know," she readily admitted. "I don't--do you really think I have the context to make an informed decision, Seeker? What does Chancellor Roderick think?"

"We cannot decide amongst ourselves," she admitted.

_ What a surprise, _ thought Tony. It must have come through in her expression, because Cassandra was starting to frown again. Instead of apologizing for the zillionth time, Tony looked to Leliana. "Is there a way... that is, which way will involve the least amount of death?"

Leliana took a second to consider, intelligent eyes focused on a point beyond her, before she responded. "The mountain path," she said. "It will have less fighting, though likely still corpses."

"Beautiful graveyard y'all have here," said Tony. She stood with effort, feeling as creaky as a tree in a gale. "Cool. Uphill?"

Leliana's smile was barely visible, but it was there. "Up ladders."

"Cool." She limped a few steps, pushing past her legs' protests. "See you later, maybe?"

Leliana simply nodded. Tony crossed the bridge, flanked by Varric and Solas. Roderick gave Cassandra a final pithy remark, and Tony nearly flipped him the bird. Things were confusing and strange, but he was obviously being a dick.

"I know you are tired," started Cassandra.

"Me? No," said Tony, willing her legs to move. "Couldn't be me."

"You are a terrible liar."

Tony felt a jolt of serotonin at that. She couldn't remember ever being accused of that before, and it gave her quite the opportunity. "Now, that? Is true," she said, pointing to Cassandra. "Makes you think that everything else I've said must _ not _ be a lie, right? Deductive reasoning. I'm a very bad liar in a very weird situation, and oh fuck, that's not a ladder, that's a--big ladder." She groaned, bringing her hands to her knees and panting at the ground. "Whatever the--is there a word? For a big ladder? Varric, you're a writer, right? Big ladder."

She heard him chuckle. "I'll think about it."

The ladders were awful. There were demons in the mountain path, of course, and the promised bodies.

"Varric."

"I'm here, Tony."

"I'm confused," she said. "You live here? Voluntarily?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said. "It's not demons and bloodshed all the time."

"If you say so."

There was another rift, and in a twist she had not asked for, more demons. These demons were new, all tall and insect-y, and they could teleport and knock people over. They chose to do this a lot, and after a while Tony just stayed down. From her position on the ground, she raised up her hand and closed the rift.

"You make it look easy," said Varric.

"S'not," she said. "Thanks, though."

There was a confusing moment where Tony was being thanked by strangers for choosing to save them. Tony could not recall doing any such thing, but was too tired to do anything but nod. "Living is good," she offered. "Glad to see you're... doin' it."

"You have my sincere gratitude," said one of them, and saluted with a fist on her chest. Tony, barely standing, waved back at her.

"That is going to need some serious rewriting," said Varric. "You were doing so well, earlier."

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "Wasn't."

"You were! Very exotic and mysterious. A noble, perhaps, from a distant shore? A learned scribe, caught up in magic beyond anyone's understanding?"

"This is not one of your stories, Varric," said Cassandra.

"Not yet," he countered. "Everything's fodder."

_ "Noble," _ wheezed Tony. "Hilarious."

"Well it is  _ now," _ said Varric. "I saw you and I thought to myself, 'now here's someone who doesn't know how to dress for a mountain pass.' I took a stab at guessing, and that's where I landed."

"Solas," said Tony. He looked at her, attentive, but she shook her head. "No, sorry, not--I'm using you as an example."

"Of?"

"Someone who doesn't know how to dress for a mountain pass," she clarified. "But you--you're not cold. Elf thing? You thing? Sorry, that's--rude."

"Perhaps you should focus on walking instead of my choice in clothing," he said.

She did her best. His outfit was easily dismissed, seeing as everyone but Tony was wearing a costume out of  _ The Lion in Winter _ . His ears proved to be a different challenge entirely. If he noticed her continued confused glances, he was good enough not to say anything.

They eventually arrived at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It lived up to its name in that there was a fuckton of ashes, though Tony couldn't guess as to their supposed sacred nature. She kept her eyes down as she jogged, pleased to see that her feet were still attached to her legs. She could no longer feel either.

"That is where you walked out the Fade and our soldiers found you," said Cassandra. "They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was."

Tony couldn't summon up the breath to say anything to that. It was a good thing, too, since her first thought was to joke,  _ Was she pretty? _ That was not the sort of comment to endear her to the Seeker, she knew, but she was running on fumes and everything that wasn't physical pain felt distant. She knew she was dissociating, but made no attempt to call herself back to the present. Floating above and away felt easier.

"You're here!" That was Leliana, who looked genuinely relieved to see them. "Thank the Maker."

_ The Maker of what? _ Another comment to keep to herself. Cassandra conferred with Leliana before turning back to Tony.

"This is your chance to end this," she said. "Are you ready?"

Tony looked up. And up, and up. "Are you..." she squinted. The Breach was very bright. "You gonna throw me? Or what? More ladders? I'm--" She focused on Cassandra again, who looked like she'd just eaten something bitter. "Right. Yes. Of course I'm ready. Let's save... wherever we are. Haven?"

"If we are successful, we will save all of Thedas," said Cassandra.

"Rad." She tried not to trip as they passed through the ruined temple. There were suddenly a lot more people around, and most of them were looking at her.

Tony had managed to go about forty paces before she heard the voice. It was deep and gravelly and everywhere, bouncing off the remaining stone with horrible reverberations.  _ Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice. _

"What are we hearing?" Cassandra demanded. Tony had to assume she wasn't asking her--Tony didn't have a single clue. Solas guessed that it was whoever created the Breach.

Tony passed by some glowing rocks without a second glance. They were no more or less strange to her than everything else, but they seemed to bother Varric a lot. There was some more ominous echoing, and then--

_ Someone! Help me! _

Tony's heart sank into her boots. She picked up the pace, sweat dripping down her back. Was someone down there?   


"That's Divine Justinia's voice," said Cassandra.

Okay. The dead Divine was talking. Why not? Tony was too busy putting on a burst of speed to worry about the details. She heard her companions break into a run behind her--for once, she was on point.

Before this morning, Tony had never seen a dead body in person. She enjoyed a gorey movie as much as the next guy, and had seen _ Face/Off _ upwards of eleven times, but there was simply no comparison. She wanted all the dying to stop. She wanted _ all of this _ to stop. And maybe she could be the one to stop it.

_ Hey! _

Tony stumbled. "What?"

_ Back off, man! You're hurting her! _

"That's your voice," said Cassandra, short of breath for the first time in Tony's memory.

_ Back the fuck up, asshole! Fuck's wrong with you? _

Cassandra winced.

Tony blushed. "I, uh. Don't remember... any of this. Sorry for the language."

The evil voice said something very "kill the spare" adjacent, and the group finally reached the center of the temple. The Breach was still high up, and yet Tony could feel it in her hand.

"We may attract attention from the other side," mentioned Solas.

"That means demons," Cassandra clarified for the people in the back.

"Love this," muttered Tony. "Love all this, for me."

Varric hoisted up his crossbow, which was apparently named Bianca. "See you on the other side, Tony."

Tony swallowed, trying to think of something to say. If this was the end, then she wanted to say something clever. Unfortunately, she was too tired to come up with anything passable in the three seconds she had. "See you."

Cassandra yelled, "Now!"

Tony reached up, and green light exploded through the sky.


	2. The New (Shitty) Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I do not yet have an update schedule in mind, but my friend is taking finals and I wanted to offer him something to read after.

Tony woke up wearing clean clothes and lying on a comfortable bed. She took a moment to lie there, eyes closed, and savor the feeling of not being frozen. Then, as her memories returned to her, she took a deep breath, filling up her lungs, before slowly exhaling. It was amazing that she could still do that. She would have lost a lot of money on betting the opposite.

Only then did she open her eyes. She was in a rustic apartment--a cabin, maybe, with wooden walls and few decorations. From her spot on the bed, she could make out snow through the window.

Instead of pinching herself, she sat up and locked eyes with an elf. She jumped in surprise--they both did, and the elf dropped something with a clunk.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

Tony shook her head, rubbing one eye with her fist. "I wasn't, until about a minute ago. Are you okay?"

"Am--" The woman looked like she'd fall over in a stiff wind. "Am I--?"

"Sorry for scaring you," said Tony. "You didn't get your foot, did you?"

The elven woman collapsed onto the ground. Tony shot out of bed, convinced that she had fainted, but no. She was... kneeling?

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

Oh. Tony flushed, embarrassed by the display. "And I'm Tony," she said. "Please--you're okay, right? What's your name?"

The elf stammered, shook her head, and continued. "You are in Haven, my Lady."

If this were Heaven, Tony was going to have some choice words with Moses about false advertising. "Seriously, get up," said Tony. The elf did, like a shot, and stood ramrod straight. "Relax," said Tony, which only resulted in more stammering. Tony bit back a curse. "Okay, look--where am I? Thank you for bringing that... box." Whatever it was.

"Haven," repeated the "humble servant." Apparently, people were all talking about Tony's amazing success with the Breach, which was funny, because Tony did not remember anything amazing or successful about it. There had been a huge horned guy, and a lot of blood, and she was pretty much done with the color green forever, but that was it. It hadn't gone anywhere. Maybe Varric had gotten to work rewriting history as soon as possible.

"'At once,' she said," said the elf.

"I really would like to know your--"

She ran.

"Name," finished Tony, alone again.

There was nothing for it--she had been summoned to the Chantry, so that is where she would go. Did it matter that she didn't know what a Chantry was? Apparently not. Maybe, if she were lucky, there would be signs.

In a way, there were. There were lots and lots of people, all saluting with their fists on their chests, all facing her. They made a sort of walkway straight to the biggest building in town. Tony noted, without pleasure, that it was obviously a church. People were looking at her-- _ everyone _ was looking at her, and it seemed like it was with reverence. Terror running up her spine, she walked, then ran, to the big wooden doors of the church.

She gave the assembled people one last look over her shoulder. There were people dressed in red and white, the way that Chancellor Roderick had been. They were kneeling, knees getting soaked in the snow.

"Oh fuck me," she whispered, and entered the Chantry.

She had not been wrong to think of Roderick. Many people were similarly dressed inside the high-ceilinged building. Tony had never felt comfortable in church. It was where her mother and her mother's husband had insisted that she dress like a loofah made of ribbons, and so she harbored a lot of resentment for it. She tried to remember that it wasn't a church, and that she wasn't there for confession. She was there to talk to Cassandra.

She strode down the torchlit hall and hesitated until she heard yelling. She recognized Cassandra's voice, and began walking faster.

Tony knocked on the door at the end of the grand hall and peeked inside. The shouting stopped, and Cassandra, Leliana, and Roderick turned to look at her.

"Hello," said Tony. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. Only just woke up. Hello again, Chancellor Roderick, Seeker Cassandra..." Tony paused. "Lady Leliana," she settled on. It would have felt weird not to include a title for everyone.

"Lady Gonzalez," said Leliana with a nod. "We have been expecting you. Come in."

Uncomfortable with the formality but recognizing that she'd started it, Tony entered the room and shut the door behind her. Roderick looked annoyed, but Tony suspected that could be a disorder of some kind. He clearly couldn't help it.

"Chancellor. Good to see you again," offered Tony.

"You live," sneered Roderick.

Tony scratched the back of her marked hand. "No one is more surprised about that than I am." Only then did Tony see the armed knight-looking people that had been stationed by the door. "Oh. Hello," she said.

Neither knight spoke. She supposed that was to be expected.

"Seeing as you have failed," said Roderick, "I expect your full cooperation in travelling to Val Royeaux in chains."

Tony opened her mouth to begin a complicated negotiation for her own weird life, but she did not get the chance to speak. Cassandra took immediate issue with Roderick, as did Leliana. The knight-bodyguards were excused, and Cassandra took out a very important looking book. There was a symbol on the cover that reminded Tony of Cassandra's armor: an eye, a sun, a sword.

"An Inquisition," Cassandra said.

Tony looked at her in shock.

Cassandra was surprised. "You know what this means?"

Tony swallowed. "I hope I don't," she said. "I hope that word means something different, here."

Leliana considered Tony, for a moment. Roderick groused, and Cassandra excused him with everything short of physical force. "What does it mean," asked Leliana, "where you are from?"

"Nothing good," Tony answered. When Leliana continued to look at her, Tony could only sigh and continue. "Where I'm from--not exactly where I'm from, not California, but--anyway, there was... Do you happen to know any Catholics?" Leliana shook her head. "Lucky you. I'm no historian, so I can't give you numbers or dates, but to me, the Inquisition was about censorship, torture, and murder. All in the name of God. Of  _ one  _ god," she said, correcting herself, "one of many, but Catholics only believe in the one."

Leliana didn't look super happy with the comparison, but Tony had never seen her look super happy, so barely took note. "The Andrastian Inquisition was not so grim, my Lady."

Tony wished she could be so easily convinced. The involvement of religion was giving her a sinking feeling. "Someone kneeled to me this morning," said Tony. "Several someones. Any ideas on why?"

Leliana's face went from carefully displeased to simply careful. It did not feel like an upgrade. She said, "They are calling you the Maker's chosen."

Tony did not know what the Maker was, but she could guess. Being "chosen" by a god meant that whatever choices she could have made about her own future had already been made for her, likely while she slept. What sort of god was the Maker? The kind that would save her in her hour of need, or the kind to demand her life in sacrifice to seal the Breach?

She brought a hand to her forehead, staring at nothing. When had all this started to happen? Hadn't she just been in her apartment? She'd just agreed to take over David's shift at the bar, and then the sound of sirens--and--and then--pain. Sharp pain, lots of it, warmth leaking out of her and leaving her freezing cold. After that...

Tony groaned. After that, there was a mountain, and green light. But that made no sense, that wasn't possible, why couldn't she  _ remember-- _

"And why should they not?" Cassandra said. "You were what we needed, when we needed it."

Tony swallowed against her sudden nausea. "That's--this is crazy. I mean, I'm not--I don't believe in your Maker, Seeker Cassandra. Plus, literally everything else about me. No red flags there? I fell out of the  _ sky." _

Cassandra shook her head. "It is not about what you believe, Antonia. It is about what you are. What you can be."

"Dead?" Tony tried not to let her fear turn to anger, but she couldn't keep either feeling out of her voice. "Killed by a giant monster? I tried that. It didn't take."

Neither Cassandra nor Leliana were willing to budge. They had their own reasons, their own slightly different rationalizations, but it boiled down to the same thing. Multiple countries were undergoing what amounted to civil war, all at the same time. Mages and Templars were killing each other on sight. The head of the church-slash-Chantry was dead, and her plans to end the mage-Templar conflict had gone with her. While some people believed that Tony had been the cause of the lethal explosion, some now believed that she was the answer to their prayers for peace.

Somehow. For some reason. Even though the Breach was still there, there was no evidence to support the idea, and Tony was Tony, a complete unknown from an entirely different world.

"Help us fix this," said Cassandra. "Before it is too late."

Tony took a deep breath. It didn't steady her, so she took another. Cassandra, not exactly the epitome of patience, cleared her throat.

What else was there to do? "Yes, all right," said Tony, and extended her hand. Cassandra shook it, nodding to herself. At least one of them was pleased with the way the day was going. "Welcome aboard, me."

"Welcome aboard," agreed Leliana. "For what it is worth, I am glad that you survived."

Tony wasn't sure she could agree, but nevertheless, she thanked her.

-

So, Tony was a messiah, now. Fantastic.

A full day passed where Tony was left to her own devices, ostensibly so that she could rest. The only people to whom she'd been introduced were busy creating their Inquisition, which seemed to involve a lot of letters and dictations. No one asked Tony to do anything, and she almost wished they would; being left to her own devices gave her too much time to think, and she still felt very much in shock.

Instead of looking inward, she familiarized herself with Haven, all one-acre of it. Tony had never gone skiing, nor was she the sort of bougee fuck who had a cabin up in the mountains, so her frame of comparison was limited to what she'd seen in movies. She figured that Haven could be someplace in the Swiss Alps, or some nowheresville township in Germany: old stone, old forests, new snow. That is, if the Swiss Alps had two moons and magic. Maybe they did? She'd never been to Europe.

Her hand threw off lime-green arcs whenever she tried to walk through the town unnoticed. It attracted attention, but not conversation; no one spoke to her without her cornering them first. As the day wore on, she began to feel entirely outside of herself, hovering above her body, watching herself take stock of her new home.

That's what this was, she knew. She was going to have to get used to this place. Even if she left, where would she go? She doubted that California was a mere horseback ride away, and she hadn't arrived with her phone to check. She could pretend, but Haven was nowhere on Earth. Since she didn't know how she'd gotten here, she had no idea how she might get back.

While she floated above herself, she made a list of the things she needed to understand. She couldn't read anything--people used runes instead of letters, and they seemed to be more complicated than stand-ins for syllables. She'd need to learn those. Proper hygiene without showers or toilet paper, that was a big one. Were there toothbrushes? Was there someone she should ask for a toothbrush?

_ No coffee, _ she thought. It made her stop in her tracks.  _ No chilaquiles. No bad movies, no good movies. You're never going to hear Mariah Carey's voice again. _

She swallowed, and headed for the Chantry. It was a place to go, and she needed to do something. To go somewhere. The alternative was crying in public.

When Tony opened one of the tall wooden doors, she was greeted by Leliana. The woman didn't smile, exactly, but her eyes were kinder than they had been in the dungeon. Not a high bar to clear, certainly, but noticeable. "Lady Gonzalez. I was just going to send for you. It is time to introduce you to the others."

"Oh." She didn't feel in any state to meet anyone; she'd been wearing the same clothes for longer than a full day, as the alternative was her blood-stained t-shirt and jeans. She had yet to figure out how to bathe, and the one hair tie she had was on its last legs, letting frizzy wisps of it loose. Unfortunately, she didn't see that she had a choice. "Sure. Lead the way."

Leliana opened the door to the back room of the Chantry, ushering Tony in. Tony opened her mouth to thank her, and then felt the air disappear from her lungs. There was a man in the room who was so improbably gorgeous that Tony wondered if she'd been concussed. He stood on the other side of the table from her, and she was grateful, as she suddenly needed to keep a hand on it for support. She couldn't see his shoulders under a mantle of fur, but she knew they would be broad; his body was covered with armor and a loose-fitting red coat, but she knew it would be flawless. He had the face of a saint and a mouth that made her pray he wasn't one.

"Commander Cullen Rutherford," said Cassandra, "Leader of the Inquisition's forces."

Tony did not extend her hand to shake, as her palms had sprung leaks. She had a good excuse, as it wasn't as common to shake hands here as back home. She simply stared.

He looked down, somehow looking bashful while wearing a sword on his hip. "Such as they are," he demurred. "We lost many soldiers in the valley--"

"I'm sorry," blurted Tony. The Commander stopped, visibly caught on his back foot. She was instantly certain that had been the wrong thing to say, but it was too late to take it back. All she could do was stand there and be wrong about things. "I chose to take the mountain path," she continued. "I--maybe if I had chosen to go through the valley, or..."

"No," he said. His voice no longer had a thread of self-deprecating humor in it, and his eyebrows were raised. She was tired of people raising their eyebrows. The forehead cardio in this place was intense, thanks to her. "Forgive me, I did not intend to imply that." He nodded to Cassandra. "The Seeker is formidable, but four more fighters would not have turned that tide."

"Three," corrected Cassandra. The Commander looked at her, his surprise increasing. "She is no fighter, nor is she a mage."

"I'm a teacher," said Tony.  _ And a bartender, and whatever else helps pay rent. _ She didn't want to confuse things, though, and so kept the specifics to herself.

Leliana looked down at the map, and then back up at Tony, eyes not unkind. "We are at war. Death is not unexpected."

Tony shifted her weight and fought to keep her arms at her sides. She wanted so much to fidget, but didn't want to be rude. These were the people in charge of her destiny, after all. "Then I'm sorry about that, too." 

Cassandra cleared her throat. "May I also," she said, "introduce Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat."

There was something about Lady Montilyet--her hair, maybe, the heart shape of her face--that made her ostentatious clothing look almost reasonable. She had the cheery, professional air of an executive, or someone who worked in marketing. She held a wooden board with a lit candle at the top, a sort of highly dangerous clipboard. Lady Montilyet gave a small dip, part curtsy, part bow. "I have heard much," she said, and then, bizarrely, something in what sounded like Castilian.

Now it was Tony who was off-balance. Tony tried,  _ "Encantada de conocerte también." _

"Oh," said Lady Montilyet, warm eyes wide. "I--believe I understood that. Forgive me, Herald. As I said, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I guessed that's what you said," admitted Tony. "Sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Cassandra ground out.

Tony huffed a breath, not quite a laugh, and shook her head. "Sorry, but no." What was there to say? How could she explain? "I didn't have enough information, back in the mountains. There wasn't any time to explain things, obviously, but--" She pushed a few loose locks of hair back with a hand, frustrated with it. What were haircuts like, in Thedas? Were they expensive? "Look, I'm not just some random resident, I'm even _ less  _ qualified than one of those would be. I don't have a grip on your history, your culture, your--magic, God, we don't even have magic where I'm from and now I have..." She flexed the fingers of her left hand. The light didn't arc, but there was a strange glow about the palm. "It's a lot, and I--want to temper expectations, you know? And yes, apologize in advance. I'm like a baby with a bomb strapped to their arm."

Silence around the table. The Ambassador was the only one who didn't look grim, and Tony assumed that was due to professionalism.

Tony coughed into her non-magic hand. "By which I mean... pleasure to meet everyone."

Cassandra groaned. Leliana stepped forward, forcing the meeting along. "We've met, but I should specify my role within the Inquisition--"

"Spymaster," said Cassandra. She was clearly less than thrilled with how this meeting was going.

Leliana's lips pursed. "Yes. Well put, Cassandra."

Tony took a deep, centering breath. "Right. Yes. Hello again, Lady Leliana, Seeker Cassandra. My name is Antonia." She grimaced. "Unfortunately, it's actually Antonia Artura Dorotea Gonzalez, but please don't call me that. Cumulatively, you'd save hours of your life just calling me Tony. My hand is magic? I guess?" The breath was not as centering as she had hoped. "Jesus Christ."

"If I may," said Lady Montilyet, "While we all appreciate your... candor, this meeting was called in order to decide on a plan of action concerning the mark upon your hand, Herald."

"Tony," she corrected. "And that's--that's a great place to start."

"The mark," said Cassandra, both hands on the table and elbows locked, "requires more power to fully seal the Breach."

Cassandra's posture was distracting. Tony couldn't help but ask, "Are you okay?"

It was not a welcome question. "I am frustrated," said Cassandra through her teeth.

"Is it my fault?"

"Yes," she said. Then, "No. You are--you have done all that has been asked of you."

"And failed," agreed Tony. "Looks like the first order of business is getting this glowing thing off me, wouldn't you say?"

There were only loaded glances in response. Commander Rutherford was the first to speak. "Is that even possible?"

"Full disclosure, I have no idea how magic works," said Tony, "as, perhaps, previously established, but it bears repeating. From what little I understand, the--my--my hand isn't... this is new to everyone. We don't know how it, specifically, works, so there's no reason not to hope." She braced herself and looked at the Commander again. "Right? Do you know something I don't?"

"I spent many years as a Templar, Lady Herald," continued the Commander. At her incomprehension, he said, "One who watches over mages, protects them and others from their magic. In all that time, I never saw a mage lose their magic through anything other than the Rite of Tranquility."

Tony brightened. That sounded like a pleasant possibility. "Fantastic suggestion, Commander. Tranquility, you said?"

He was uncomfortable, but she didn't know if that was due to the topic or his general disposition. He seemed to be an all-around uncomfortable person. "Severing a mage's connection to the Fade removes their magic, as well as their ability to dream. Their susceptibility to possession."

Possession, he said. As if this were _ The Exorcist. _ She gave him a disbelieving smile and said, "Really?"

He did not smile back. If anything, he paled further. He looked like an alabaster bust of a very sad man.

His hesitation melted the expression off her face and left her cold. Possession. Why not? Two moons, magic, and possession--what argument could she make to disprove the existence of these things? "All the more reason to cut me off from magic, don't you think? Or cut  _ this _ off." She sucked in another breath. Her hand twitched; the mark vibrated against her skin, shaking the bones in her hand. "Eventually, anyway. There's still that hole in the sky, the Breach." She sucked in her lower lip and tried to remember anything useful about her arrival. After a few moments, inspiration struck. "Is there any chance that killing me would do the trick?" The Commander did not meet her eye, and the Ambassador looked prepared to laugh at whatever joke Tony was making. "Genuinely, I'm asking," clarified Tony.

The Spymaster tilted her head, giving Tony a once-over with her cool, dispassionate eyes. "This is not the first time you have made such an offer, my Lady. Your obsession with your own death is..." Leliana paused. "Troubling."

Without the context of her own lived experience, she supposed it would be. "I shouldn't be here," said Tony. Again, though--how to explain? "Look, I understand that there are lives at stake. I understand the... well, the basic abstract of the political situation here, and I don't envy any of you the task of untying that knot. But it's important that you all understand that when I... when I came through the Breach, or the rift, or whatever you're calling it, I thought that I was..."

Her brain didn't like to remember that part. The memories fought against her, blurring in her head. Unable to do anything else, she simplified. "When I woke up here, I thought that I had died."

No one looked eager to ask. After a moment's silence, Leliana said, "Why?"

Tony shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I can't remember much, but there was an accident," she said, circling her suspicions. "I fell unconscious back in California, and I didn't expect to wake back up. Being alive and being here is a weird, double-edged bonus," Tony concluded. "I'm not a ghost, I don't think. Do you have those?" Lady Montilyet nodded, and Tony sighed. "Of course you do. What's important is that the Inquisition needs-- _ you _ need--someone with the ability to close rifts, and who isn't me. There have to be options." Desperate, she looked around the room. "Leliana?"

"I know of nothing that could transfer your mark to another."

"Would Solas?" She remembered his certainty that she could close rifts. He'd been right. "He knows things."

"It is not simply your power that is important to the Inquisition," cut in Lady Montilyet. "It is you." Tony frowned, uncomprehending. The Ambassador's eyes were shining with emotion. "You are a hero to the people. A symbol. You attempted to save Divine Justinia--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Tony, holding up her hands. "According to whom? A bunch of disembodied voices?" She felt a nervous giggle rise in her throat, and tried to keep it inside. "Come on, Lady Montilyet. Even if that's true, and I did try to save her, it's not like I succeeded."

Lady Montilyet scaled back the intensity of her hopeful expression. It was a neat trick to watch; it showed a social savvy that Tony had rarely seen. It was terrifying for the same reason. "The truth has taken many forms, of late." It was a pretty answer, and gave Tony no new information.

"Chancellor Roderick went public with what you said to him," said Leliana. "You thought that sealing the Breach would kill you, and yet, you tried it anyway."

Tony frowned. "I  _ should _ be dead. I thought that--I thought it would just work out that way. I wasn't thinking very far ahead, as you might imagine. I was too busy seeing demons for the first time."

Cassandra made a strange noise, something between a scoff and a laugh. "We will not solve these mysteries at this table. We need you for the Inquisition, Lady Gonzalez. Everything else, we will see to as we can."

Josephine nodded. "When we have the resources, the influence. As they are now, we would be hard-pressed to hire an arcanist to study that mark."

Tony decided that she hated this meeting. No one was listening to her, and there weren't even snacks. "Please," she said, feeling her mind and her body begin to decouple again, "just--I can't, I can't do this. I'm a nobody; I'm not even from here, I..."

The Commander made an expression that tugged at the scar on his lip--not quite a smile, but close to it. "I agree that your situation is... strange," he said, "but at present, you are our best option at sealing the Breach for good."

Strange, he said. Tony looked from face to face, studying their expressions. Finally, she put two and two together. "Oh."

None of them believed her about who she was. Not about California, not about her inability to fight, probably not even about her being a teacher. They knew she had a mark on her hand, and they knew that she could close rifts, but everything else she'd said or shown was apparently borderline farcical. No matter what she said, they had all already made up their minds. At least, she hedged, they didn't believe her yet. Now that they were no longer keeping her wrists bound, she had the time to figure something out.

They needed her help; there was no one else they could ask. Tony glared at the table, and then up at the Commander's disbelieving face. "What's at the top of your priority list?"

Yet again, everyone around her was having trouble making a decision. Mages, or Templars. Either one of them would give her mark enough power to seal the Breach for good. 

Tony wondered what a real Herald of Andraste would do. Assuming that there were an ideal person for this job, what would their first order of business be? Tony wasn't a manager, or a veteran, or anything that could be useful in a situation like this. All she had were the stories she had studied and the will to bluff her way through anything. As she thought, she had to ignore the ticker tape running at the bottom of her mind:  _ this is stupid, this sucks, this is total bullshit. _

After at least ten seconds, Tony turned to Josephine. "Ambassador," she said. "I've got some questions."

That bow-curtsy again. "Of course, Herald."

The title was not growing on Tony, but she continued without remarking on it. "Mages... they're born to every nation in Thedas. Everyone--potentially everyone could be related to someone with magic. Correct?"

"Not quite," said Josephine. "Though it has never been successfully recorded outside of the Tevinter Imperium, it is believed that magic runs through direct bloodlines."

She nodded, absorbing this. "Commander, I have a question about Templars."

He nodded, though she couldn't help but see the new tension in his shoulders. The tightness of his grip on the pommel of his sword. What was making him so angry? Or was it frustration, like Cassandra was feeling? She wished she knew.

"Could--so--here's..." She began. It was far more difficult to act competent under his obvious scrutiny. Tony opened her mouth to ask about his previous job, but ended up saying, "Relax."

He gave her a pretty amazing expression at that. It was as if she'd suddenly slapped him. "Excuse me?"

"You--" She floundered, hands dancing awkwardly in the air. "You could just say no. To questions."

His expression hardened again, but the effect was spoiled by the redness of his ears. "My Lady, I assure you, answering questions is no trouble."

_ It looks like  _ enormous _ fucking trouble, actually,  _ but she merely shrugged a shoulder. "I--just, anyone could be a Templar, right? If they weren't born a mage?"

He hesitated, still looking out of sorts. "It is not... it is not so easy as wanting to be one. It takes years of dedicated training."

"Hard work," she summarized, "and not everyone is interested in working hard." Tony started to pace, mostly so she wouldn't have to look at him. "Right. If I..."

Thedas was an entirely different world. No shared history, no shared culture. She was someplace complicated and new, and what little she'd learned spoke of a long and bloody history. Just because she was no longer in the dungeon didn't guarantee her safety. Important people in Earth history were rarely safe, and Heralds... well. Joan of Arc had been burned at the stake, hadn't she?

She ignored the chill that thought had sent through her. "Lady Leliana, I would like to ask something of you."

"You may."

"I have not changed my mind," said Tony. "I think--I know that this is a mistake. It has to be. If you have the time, could you investigate the possibility of moving the mark from my hand to someone else's?" Someone more capable, she didn't say. Leliana nodded her assent. "In the meantime, I think it's... God. Not to sound like my mother, but I think it's  _ prudent _ for me to read up on, uh. Everything. Seeker Cassandra--"

"Pentaghast," Cassandra corrected. "If you insist on using my title."

"I think I do," said Tony. "For now, anyway. Seeker Pentaghast, you'd said that there would be a trial."

It took Cassandra a long moment to understand what Tony was asking. When she did, her face transformed with shock. "You are no longer a prisoner of the Inquisition, Lady Antonia. I--I had not thought to--"

"Not thought to _ tell _ her?" Lady Montilyet looked scandalized. "But you invited her to join us only a day ago! Did this conversation not happen then?"

"Maker's breath," muttered the Commander. It had the rhythm of a curse.

Leliana was smiling, for some reason. It only made her look more mysterious. "I had wondered what had you so tense, my Lady Herald."

"Oh, that's just a symptom of being me," said Tony, waving a hand. "I'm not going to be executed for killing the Pope, though, that's great news." She mimed wiping sweat from her brow. "Phew. Haha." She blinked. "Er, the Divine. The Lady Pope."

Lady Montilyet looked annoyed as she scribbled a note on her not-clipboard. "I understand that our customs might be unusual to you, my Lady. I would happy offer my services to tutor you in the basics of our ways, should that be of interest. I imagine," she added, favoring Tony with a small smile, "that it would be difficult to know where one might begin."

It was a generous offer, and Tony immediately snapped it up. "Thank you. That's--that would also be a huge relief."

"There is one woman," said Leliana, "who has asked to meet you specifically."

"Fun," said Tony. "Who is she?"

"Mother Giselle, in the Hinterlands, is curious about you."

"Mother... so, a Chantry person? Bold choice."

More plans were made, and after some indeterminate length of time, Tony left the conference with a feeling of definite, short-term purpose. She had no idea what was going on, but at least she knew what she needed to do tomorrow. It was a small thing to hold onto, but it was enough to comfort her a little.

-

Seeker Pentaghast tore into a row of dummies as though they'd just insulted her honor.

Tony looked out at the many pairs of sparring warriors on the other side of the tents. She wrapped her cloak closer around her, fighting a shiver. The clanging and banging was expected, she supposed. These people were motivated, not talented--believers, not savants. Still, it made her feel nervous to watch them.

The Seeker turned and spotted her. "Lady Antonia," she said, nodding her head.

Tony decided what she would say. It would be charming, and open, and exactly what the Seeker needed to hear. Instead, her mouth opened and let out, "Have those men been trained for long?"

Cassandra paused, murder slipping through her expression the way a shark would water. Tony babbled through her silence. "By which I mean--ah, Jesus, I'm--that was--I'm sorry, I just--they all look so nervous." She took a quick breath. "They seem... unseasoned? I don't know what the word is."

"Unseasoned is accurate," she said, still visibly displeased. "Their training is Commander Cullen's responsibility. Training which he should also extend to you."

Tony couldn't keep her nose from wrinkling at the thought. "I don't know how to fight with a sword, and I have no interest in--no," said Tony, speaking over Cassandra. "I understand why you'd want me to, but I'm not going to. Anyway, what could I learn in a week that would serve me in the Hinterlands?"

Cassandra turned back to her dummies, swinging her sword with expert form. "Not much. Perhaps not anything. We will not know, if you do not try."

Tony heard a recruit cry out in pain, followed by Commander Cullen demanding he use his shield more aggressively. "I don't want to kill anyone," she said.

"If only it were so simple." Cassandra swung down on a dummy's shoulder, nearly cleaving the arm clean off. It made Tony nauseous to watch. "There are many people who would not hesitate to kill you."

"I'm not traveling alone." Tony refused to feel childish about refusing to fight. Cassandra was free to think so, but Tony did not have to agree. "You'll be there to protect me."

Cassandra hacked at the dummy's shoulder again. This time, the arm fell to the snow.

Tony clutched her cloak more closely around her. "Or you could stay here? I'm--Seeker, why are you angry? What--what can I do?"

"I am not angry," said Cassandra, angrily. "I am... displeased." Tony shook her head, confused, and Cassandra sighed. "We lost many, at the Conclave. Most Holy is dead; I could not protect her. Now, you say you will rely on my shield. You refuse to pick up anything, even a bread knife, to defend yourself. It is your choice, Herald, but it is far riskier than you seem to believe."

It was difficult to see things from Cassandra's perspective. From what Tony had seen, Thedas was a land of harsh weather and harsher people. Death was everywhere--Tony had lived for thirty-one years without seeing a single corpse, and in her time here she had already lost count of how many she had seen. Perhaps on Earth, Cassandra would be pushing a can of mace into Tony's hand, or urging her to take a self-defense class. Prevention was a moot point, now. The mark was on Tony's hand, and would be until Leliana fixed it.

Tony sighed. "There is... something," she admitted. "When I was a kid, I..." Tony ran up against a lot of cultural differences right away. In order to explain  _ The Princess Bride, _ she'd have to explain movies, and she did not feel at all equal to the task. "There was a story that I was pretty obsessed with, and I'd pretend to fight with swords, but not--not longswords, not like what you're doing. Fencing."

Cassandra frowned. "Fencing?"

"I--it--sword? Swordplay? No shield? I wish I knew the word, but I don't. Footwork," she finally blurted.

"Footwork," the Seeker said. It was as if they were communicating through semaphore. "What about it?"

"Knees," Tony started. Then, annoyed, she went to the rack of practice swords. "I'm going to hold this wrong," she prefaced. "Ignore my grip. This is about my legs. All right?"

"I will try," said the Seeker, glaring at Tony's grip.

Tony crouched, sword in her right hand. Her feet were at a ninety degree angle, and her knees were bent so she was, in total, nearly half as tall as she would be standing at rest. "Fencing," she said. Then, she widened her stance, moving her feet to be closer to sixty degrees, making her weight balance on a triangle shape rather than a line. "Swordfighting. Right?"

Cassandra examined her form. "Not quite." She held her sword before her and crouched, feet spread wide, yet fewer than forty-five degrees at an angle.

"What?" Tony relaxed, standing at ease. "How? You'll fall over like that."

She smiled. "I haven't yet."

"Gimme the--whatever. Paces? Could you show me a drill?"

Seeker Pentaghast did. She showed Tony the way she could move in a complete circle without ever being off balance. She showed how the grip of her sword was long enough to be wielded one handed or two handed, and how it could be counterbalanced by either the force of her swing or her non-dominant hand levering near the pommel. When she wore a shield, she used it both to protect and to harm, its very presence changing the dimensions of the fight.

"Holy shit," said Tony. When Cassandra was visibly without a response to that, Tony blathered on to cover for her own strangeness. "That--I liked that a lot. Thank you for taking the time, Seeker, to show me."

She nodded. She was smiling, almost--the scar on her face puckered, giving it away. "Thank  _ you. _ For reconsidering."

Tony's smile was more of a grimace. She returned the blunted practice sword to the rack. "Considering reconsidering, anyway. I'm not about to pick up a sword again for fun." 

"You need to be safe." Cassandra sheathed her blade and shook out her arms. "With luck, you will not need to fight often, but the Inquisition has not been lucky so far." She gave Tony a once-over, considering her legs again, even though Tony was not at all in position. "I believe that the story you admired was about duelists, my Lady. Dueling is impractical, but it is a form of swordplay, and I have seen something similar to your stance before."

"Duelists," agreed Tony. "Makes sense. It's--you know..." She looked over the practice yard. She saw angles that she hadn't, before Cassandra's drill. "I can see how hard everyone is working. I..." Tony decided not to apologize for being, in her mind, completely reasonable, and gave the Seeker a smile instead. "Would it make you feel better if I gave it a try?"

"I am not the only one who is concerned," said Cassandra. "Cullen should teach you."

"Maybe." There was a beat of silence in their conversation. Tony sensed what it might be about, and spoke up first. "I forgive you for before." Cassandra blinked at her. "For forgetting to tell me I was no longer--you know. You had a lot on your mind."

Before Cassandra could respond, a man in a green hood ran up to them. "My Lady Herald," said a runner. "Lady Montilyet is expecting you in her office."

Tony nodded. "Thank you. What's your name?"

The messenger hesitated. "Irving, my Lady Herald."

"Irving," Tony repeated to herself. "Irving. Thank you, Irving. Carry on."

The runner left. Cassandra quirked an eyebrow. "You mean to memorize his name?"

Tony nodded. "Everyone's name, eventually. It's only polite." She gave Cassandra a short bow. "Again, thank you for your time. I'll see you later." She hurried away, already anxious about keeping Lady Montilyet waiting.

Tony knocked on Lady Montilyet's door, and was surprised that she didn't call her in. Confused, she pushed the door open a crack and saw her speaking with a complete stranger. He was dressed in yellow and black, and wore a mask that concealed most of his face.

"Marquis DuRellion, may I introduce," said Lady Montilyet, "Lady Gonzalez--"

"A name none of Orlais has heard before," said the man. "A stranger, unknown to the Divine Justinia."

Tony couldn't argue with any of that. Marquis DuRellion was a bizarre-looking person, wearing a yellow and black checkerboard doublet and a mask with a mustache on it. The collar of his doublet was wide, tall, and broad enough to be used as a fishbowl, should the need arise. Tony bowed, hoping to hide her amusement. "It is an honor to meet you, Marquis. Is something wrong?"

"'Is something wrong,'" he echoed mockingly. "Your people are trespassing on my land!"

"The Marquis is in an uncomfortable position, my Lady Herald," started Lady Montilyet.

Before she could explain further, the Marquis rushed ahead. "My wife owns this land--the contracts with Ferelden nobility are without question. Your Inquisition is not a beneficiary of our generous offer to the Divine's pilgrims."

Tony swallowed. While it was clear that Lady Montilyet wished to speak, the Marquis was facing Tony, and there was some invisible but unbreakable barrier in her way. Tony had no such handicap. "Marquis DuRellion," she said, committing his name to memory. "Thank you for coming." She saw him hesitate, and continued. "I thank you, because we are in the middle of nowhere, and you must have traveled far. I had no idea anyone had a claim to this place--if I had, I would have sent a... letter?" She looked at the Ambassador, who nodded. "A letter," Tony continued, "thanking you for your patience and understanding."

"Your pretty words are meaningless, so-called Herald of Andraste," said the Marquis.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. What was it about having a title that made people assholes? "I imagine they must be," she said. "I admit ignorance, on my part. That you would even speak to me is--"

"Marquis," cut in Montilyet, "the people here need refuge. They are the Divine's faithful, and they would not survive if cast out into the snow."

"And who benefits if they stay?"

Tony frowned. "You?" The Ambassador and the Marquis both looked at her. "Marquis, I feel... compelled to apologize, but I've been told I do that too much. It's just--surely you see that everyone here is indebted to you? Or your wife, I suppose."

"I have no interest in charity," he said, unamused.

"Okay," said Tony, hiding a flash of irritation. She wished that she could see his face. "People are coming to Haven because they believe in... in what happened here. They are spending money to stay comfortably. There is an economy here that didn't exist even a week ago. Is that what's bothering your wife? People bringing money to this village in the middle of nowhere?"

The Marquis, perhaps, glared. "Do you mean to suggest I should levy a tax against these pilgrims?"

"Are you not suggesting that?" Tony frowned. "Or did you actually want to throw everyone out? At least the pursuit of money would make a kind of sense, beyond simple cruelty."

"Marquis," said Lady Montilyet, breathless with concern. The Ambassador smoothed over Tony's gritty words with a trowel, explaining the situation in more detail and garnering sympathy from the masked man. After a thorough wooing, the Marquis left the room. He did not spare Tony a backward glance.

"Did I..." Tony pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Please tell me if I messed that up irreparably. I thought I was late to our meeting, so..."

"I admit, you were unorthodox," she said, "but not unskilled. Tell me, is there the Game, in California?" Seeing Tony's blank look, she specified. "Politics. Intrigue. Lies in the disguise of truths."

"Absolutely, there is," said Tony. "I never, uh, played it? But that's absolutely what's going on, especially in the wealthy areas."

"I am most intrigued. Forgive me, but you seemed almost invested in the Marquis' success. Did you see any proof of his claims?" The Ambassador gestured for Tony to sit, which she did with only a second's hesitation. She felt a little bit like she'd been summoned to the principal's office.

"No," said Tony, "but I was being serious when I thanked him. How long did it take for him to come out here? It's not like it's down the block." She gave a wincing smile. "I'm also not totally sure what a Marquis is, and I didn't want any trouble."

"Though I am unfamiliar with some of your specifics, I can glean a bit of understanding," said the Ambassador. "I must insist you try to be less sympathetic to nobles who come at their own expense to Haven. It is no small thing to afford the journey, my Lady Herald. They are as comfortable as they choose to be."

"I'll let you take the reins in the future, Lady Montilyet."

"Please," she said, color rising in her cheeks. "Josephine is fine."

"Only if you call me Tony."

Lady Josephine smiled charmingly instead of agreeing to Tony's terms. "Shall we begin? There are more influential families to learn about than the DuRellions."

-

After four days, Tony came to several conclusions. She would never get used to the cold that permeated everything, nor the feeling of freezing wetness that slapped her in the face whenever she went outside. She would never be able to walk anywhere or do anything without getting stared at. She would never understand the agricultural industries of Thedas, no matter how often Lady Josephine explained them--there was cheese, but no cows this far south, and chocolate, but its origins were kept a closely-guarded secret. Haven was receiving donations of goods, not money, and it was clearly a balancing act that few other than Josephine could handle. To Tony, the Inquisition's money situation was a single step from bankruptcy at any moment.

"But where is the food coming from?" Tony asked Threnn, the Inquisition quartermaster with the unkind face.

"Pilgrims," she grunted. "Volunteers. My job isn't to solicit, my Lady. I collect, take inventory, and hand out what's needed."

"So our supply lines could just stop? Without notice? What if there's a blizzard?"

"We're storing what we can, my Lady," said Threnn. She managed to make Tony's title sound like a rude nickname.

"Sorry," Tony said instantly. "I mean--I'm not trying to question you, I'm just concerned."

A soft laugh carried over the snow. Tony frowned and looked past Threnn, seeing Varric sitting by the fire a level below.

"Beg your pardon," he said, shaking his head as he warmed his hands by the fire. "I was wondering when you'd apologize. You made it a whole three minutes! New record."

Tony took the opportunity to leave Threnn alone, which she visibly appreciated--meaning, she rolled her eyes and angrily took up a report to read. Tony hopped down a level and joined Varric by the fire, sitting near him on one of the logs. The log was damp with melted snow, but Tony did not care. She was damp all over, all the time. It was doing terrible and itchy things to her skin.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," said Varric. Tony immediately opened her mouth, and he held up a hand to her. "And don't apologize for being scarce. Everyone's asking for a piece of you right now."

Tony flexed her marked hand, even though it hurt. It had become a reflex, like if she did it enough times, the mark would scab and fall off. "I asked them to ask," she said. "I'm not from Ferelden, Varric. I'm not even from Thedas. I'm at a disadvantage."

"So you're gonna try to cram in a whole life's worth of information into... how long, exactly? One month? Two?" He shook his head. "I know people are asking the impossible of you pretty regularly, these days, but who's asking you to do that?"

Tony shifted. "Nobody. But--"

"So cut it out," he said. Flippant. As if it were so simple. "Relax. Do Californians even know how?"

Tony was surprised into a snort. At his questioning look, she said, "Yes. I--yes, Californians know how to party. It's kind of a... it's our reputation, that we aren't serious enough."

He smirked. "You certain you're from there?"

She shrugged. "You aren't the first to ask." She rubbed her hands together, warming up her fingers. "How are you, Varric?"

"Me? Fine." He let the conversation change topics easily, for which Tony was grateful. They complained about the weather, the smell of the horses, the hole in the sky. It was refreshingly normal.

"And Tony," he said, smiling, "Seriously. Take a nap. Read a book. Whatever you do to pass the time that isn't apologizing to the air for breathing it."

"Thanks. I'll... I'll try." She considered the fire. What would she find relaxing? She knew where the baths were, now, and she'd figured out how to get her laundry done. Her days felt full of necessities, but even so, here she was chatting by a campfire. "I don't suppose you know any card games?"

Varric's smile went wolfish. "I might."

And so Tony was introduced to Wicked Grace, a game that was like poker, if poker were designed by some real bastards. The card suits were different, but there were still four of them, and Tony understood the basic order of importance pretty quickly. Three hands in, Tony asked, "Is this Herald thing a paying gig, or what?"

"Don't see why not," said Varric. "You broke?"

"Nothing but the clothes on my back," she said. "And the clothes in my cabin, which, _ is  _ that cabin mine? Am I going to be asked to move at some point?"

He smiled and drew a card. "Eager to sleep in a tent? Just wait. We'll be camping plenty out in the Hinterlands."

She sighed, looking forlornly down at her hand. It was a good hand, but she let herself feel sad about everything else to help her bluff. "I am not eager to sleep in a tent, Varric. I'm pretty much the opposite of that."

"Then keep your head down, and maybe you'll get to keep your bed." He drew the card that meant the round was over. "Show 'em."

"Two pair," she said, dropping her hand face-up on the log between them. "Eat it, Tethras."

He groaned, but kept smiling. "Maybe it's a good thing we aren't using money, right now."

"That's shark talk." He gave her a questioning quirk of his brow as he shuffled. "Card sharking. As in, you're lulling me into false confidence now, so once I actually have cash, you can clean me out."

He made a bridge with the cards between his palms, then let Tony cut the deck. "What an accusation! Why would I ever do a thing like that?"

Tony smiled. "Because I like you, and people I like tend to be dicks."


	3. Cassandra Greatly Approves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!

The night before they left for the Hinterlands, Tony couldn't get to sleep until the moons were high in the sky. The cold felt ever-present, and the light on the snow reminded her of the glitter of armor and swords. She wrapped her blanket closer around her, willing her thoughts to turn away from what she'd seen.

Her sleep was fitful. The mark on her hand pulsed in time with the flickering green light in the sky. She could see it behind her eyelids, no matter how tightly she squeezed them closed.

She saw the lake just outside of Haven's gates. It usually looked like a massive sheet of black marble, but that night it was liquid, gentle ripples betraying where the fish were swimming. Tony walked into the lake, feet bare, and did not feel cold. She bent to dip her fingers into the water, curious. When she pulled her hands back, they were soaked with red.

Tony looked out over the water, and saw that the red was her, it was coming from her. She stepped back from the lake, but the damage was done; the fish floated to the top, dead on contact with her poisoned blood. Tony turned back to Haven, and saw that the gates were closed.

The Breach was closer now, directly over Haven's Chantry. It flared and rumbled like thunder, sending fire raining down. The horses screamed as they fell in their stable, dead. When Tony tried to run to the gates, she found she could get no closer. Smoke blocked out the stars, leaving only the gaping wound of the Breach visible.

She saw Cassandra raise her sword, face contorted in fury. Tony raised her hands to guard her face, and found she was holding a sword, as well--green, lit from within with electricity and fire.

_ "How long will you refuse to humble yourself before me?"  _ Cassandra's voice boomed, filling Tony's head. She brought her sword down onto Tony's blade, the blow sending up sparks.  _ "Pathetic," _ she snarled. _ "Weak. Stretch out your hand toward the sky, Herald. Now." _

Tony tried to speak, but her mouth was frozen closed. All she could do was parry weakly as Cassandra swung her blade like an executioner's axe.

Another voice, this one coming from the air itself, bore itself into her mind:  _ Now is the hour of our victory. _

"How dramatic."

Tony looked up. The Seeker was frozen mid-beheading, scar vibrant and red on her face, six inches long and bisecting an eye. As she looked at her, she seemed to lose focus, fading into translucency. From behind her stepped Solas, appearing in much sharper relief.

Solas looked at the seven-foot-tall, wrathful Cassandra with disinterest. "An unflattering representation. Why?"

Tony swallowed her surprise and managed to stand. As she did, the dream-version of Cassandra--for it was a dream, she realized now--shimmered away. Solas remained, hands clasped behind his back, taking in the scenery as if he were in a slightly boring museum.

"I would not call this rest  _ restful, _ Antonia." He looked at her with a soft, almost pitying smile. "And you will need your strength for tomorrow's journey."

The sky above Haven was still hailing and raining fire, but it felt muted. There was no roar of thunder or shaking of the ground.

Tony frowned at Solas. "Are you... critiquing my nightmares?"

He tilted his head. "Are you receptive to critique?"

"Is this real?" She looked down at her hands. The mark was still there. It wasn't a sword, or a cannon, or anything. Just there. No more or less horrible than it would be in the morning. "Are you real?"

"All good questions," said Solas, "best answered after you  _ wake up." _

Tony shot up in bed, soaked in sweat and intensely confused.

-

Tony had no idea what to pack for a rift-closing mission. Luckily for her, things were made far simpler by her not actually having any money or belongings. Lady Montilyet--"Josephine," she'd gently insisted--gave her a small purse the morning of and urged her to go to one of the merchants they had at Haven to pick up a means of self-defense. It embarrassed Tony to be given an allowance by a woman younger than her, but she supposed it was necessary.

Seggrit the blond-haired merchant gave off a smarmy, used-car-salesman vibe, and she did not linger at his table. She ended up purchasing a knife that was long enough to be threatening, but light enough to hold without instantly exhausting her. She kept it in its sheath and strapped it to her side, leaning over to tug the buckles tight. It was then that she saw, under all the swords and raw materials, a book with no title.

"A journal, my Lady," he said. "Going for a very competitive price, I might add. There aren't many here who can or wish to write."

She snapped it up, along with a quill that had lost almost all of its feather and a small bottle of black ink. She put the ink in her nearly-empty wallet and prayed that it wouldn't break. Someday, she'd figure out how to make a pencil, or commission someone smarter than her to do it. Someday, if she ever had money. Religious leadership couldn't be that lucrative a gig, could it?

Tony set out with Cassandra, Solas, and Varric on foot, sparing the horses for messengers who needed the speed. It didn't take long for Haven to disappear behind them, blocked by snow and trees. If only the same could be said for the Breach.

Cassandra noticed Tony's frequent looks back at the hole in the sky. "We will deal with that soon enough," she said.

Tony nodded, a little embarrassed again. She didn't feel like a hero on an adventure; she felt like a payload to be delivered. The roads were clearly dangerous, and all Tony had to offer was a knife she didn't know how to use, a book with nothing in it, and a camping backpack with straps that pinched her shoulders.

Solas was at the rear, the slope of the road making that the best vantage point. His bare feet took on the snow and muck without visible issue. Tony, wearing new boots, tried not to stare. With Cassandra on point, Tony ended up alongside Varric, who was--as far as Tony could tell, given the brevity of their acquaintance--uncharacteristically quiet.

"Is something wrong, Varric?" He looked up, surprised at Tony's sudden question. She tried not to blush. Five minutes in, and her mouth already needed a foot in it. "No jokes about the shitty weather, or anything?"

"Plenty, but everyone else has already heard them," he said. "I've been trudging through mountain roads with the Seeker for forever, or at least it feels that way."

"As a rogue, a storyteller, or an unwelcome tagalong?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "As a prisoner, mostly. The Seeker wanted to know where one of my friends had gotten off to; I wish I knew. Her disappointment was kinda... threatening."

Tony relaxed her shoulders and adjusted the straps of her pack. "Oh, did she interrogate you, too? That's a cool thing to have in common."

He smiled at the horizon. "We should start calling it 'the Chantry Welcome.' Everyone's doing it these days."

"Are you still a prisoner?" Tony kicked a rock out from the middle of the road. "Time off for good behavior, maybe?"

"Not quite." He touched his hand to Bianca's hilt with the love someone else would use to pat the head of a favorite dog. "I'm too useful to keep in irons forever, and she needed to recruit fighters instead of throwing them in jail for getting mouthy."

"That's great news," said Tony, meaning it. "I didn't really like jail. Drafty."

"And the chairs! So uncomfortable."

"Right?"

The time passed in much the same way for an hour. Varric had a way of putting Tony at ease, mostly because he was friendly enough to explain all the weird shit she kept seeing. The not-cows were called druffalo, and they weren't going to eat her. That plant was medicinal, and that was why Solas was harvesting it. Yes, potions were a real thing. Potions were part of why Tony had survived her first attempt at closing the Breach.

"And potions are magic?" Tony's fingers itched for her pen, but there was no way she could walk and write at the same time.

"Yeah." Varric pulled out a small glass bottle, full of a cherry-red liquid that ran down the insides of the bottle like wine. "Elfroot, like what Solas just harvested, goes into this. The plant isn't magic, but the reaction is."

"So it's a magical solution?"

Varric raised an eyebrow. "To some stuff. It can't bring back the dead, or anything."

"No--like, solution, as in a fully-blended mixture of two or more things. Like how salt and water makes a saline solution." She saw Varric's eyes glaze over. "No?"

"Look, I know a lot of things, but not much about magical theory."

"Antonia speaks of science, not magic." Tony jumped, and discovered that Solas was much, much closer to the two of them than he'd been before. "My apologies," he said. "I did not mean to scare you."

"No worries," she said, awkward again. Solas wasn't prickly, exactly--he wasn't rude or cruel, just off-putting. He seemed to be an arm's length from reality at all times, as if pedestrian things like weather or shoes were beneath his notice. She had no idea what to expect from him. She didn't know what to expect from any elven apostate, though, so maybe this was more of a "her'' problem. Regardless, seeing him reminded her of her strange nightmare, and she had no idea how to bring that up in casual conversation.

"To answer your question in more detail, just as steel is a homogenous blend of iron with coal, what is called a healing potion is a mixture of elfroot, distilled water, and occasionally the essence of dawn lotus. If elfroot is brewed as a tea, it has some beneficial properties, but in order to create a potion, it must be subjected to a more complex process that differs depending on the region."

Tony's pace slowed, fascinated by Solas' explanation. "Okay. Right. So--like additives, and stuff?"

He nodded. "Additives to increase its potency, or even to change its color. Some are simply fashionable, and have no impact on the potion's efficacy."

She considered that, weighing the information in her mind against what little she knew about distilling things like alcohol. Was there such a thing as eighty-proof health potion? After a moment, she said, "Steel is iron and carbon, I'd thought."

Solas' face, already calm, warmed a few degrees. "Indeed. But carbon is not the most common word, and I did not want to add to your confusion."

"That's fair." Tony, a complete fish out of water, had very little pride left to bruise. "It's kind of amazing that steel is the same here as it is back home." Solas tilted his head in question, so Tony continued. "Thedas... not that I've seen all of Thedas, not even close--Haven, then. In Haven, steel is made from carbon and iron, snow falls from the sky, and people ride horses to get from place to place. California is different in lots of ways, but the... the chemical things, the basic agricultural things, even the animal husbandry is weirdly similar. But we aren't on the same planet as where I'm from, because there are two moons and there's magic. So..." She frowned, trying to find her own point in the mess of examples she'd just given. "I'm lucky? I guess? That things aren't as alien as they could be?"

Solas nodded, eyes scanning the trees. Looking out for danger, perhaps. "An optimistic perspective."

"That's a first," said Tony. "I'm not usually considered an optimist, I'm just--like, I have a pen, but it's not the kind of pen I want. It's messy and fussy and I'm gonna get ink everywhere. Still, a long time ago, someone on Earth and someone on Thedas saw the same need and made the same invention to suit the same purpose." She pushed her hair out of her eyes. "How large is Thedas, to have two moons in its orbit? How far away is the sun? Does water boil at the same temperature? How can you understand what I'm saying? How can Ambassador Montilyet speak a language so similar to Spanish? Is this--is it crazy, to think about this?"

"No, though considering it for too long risks making you crazy."

She huffed a laugh. "It's a little late for that, I think."

Solas' mouth tilted up at the ends. Tony was so surprised that it took her a second to read it as a smile.

Over the next few hours, Solas and Tony fell into a surprisingly easy rhythm. Tony had thousands of questions, and if they were thought-out enough, Solas would answer them. He wouldn't have made a great teacher, she thought privately--not enough objectivity, too much Socratic method--but he was clearly brilliant and didn't mind the huge gaps in her knowledge. He explained the relationship between magic and the Fade, which made Tony's head spin.

"So magic is informed by will?"

"Yes," he said.

"And potions involve magic, but using them doesn't require magic?"

"Correct."

"So if I distill elfroot or however that works--if I make a potion, and it is effective, did I just 'do' magic?"

He gave her that shadow of a smile again. "That is philosophy, and not a question we can answer here."

"Can you use potions in the Fade?"

And so on. By the time the afternoon light had started to dim and they'd set up a small camp, Tony's mind was buzzing.

Varric had not stuck around for Solas' lecture. He'd bounced between bothering Cassandra and, when she shouted him off, poking fun at whatever topic Tony and Solas had been discussing at the time. It helped Tony to remember to take breaks, but only barely. She felt like an empty vessel, walking around this world she could barely begin to understand. Solas was an expert in fields of study she hadn't even known existed, and while it was fascinating and inspiring, it was also kind of terrifying. Talking with him had illuminated just how much she didn't know, and worse, how much she must not know she didn't know.

That night in camp, he sat and stared into the fire, bowl of dinner forgotten on her knee. Varric approached, smiling wryly. "You okay, Tony?"

"What?" She looked up, and then back to the fire. "Yes. Maybe? I'm getting there."

"Loaded question, I know." He sat on the log beside her, considering the stars above them. "Chuckles' lecture rub you the wrong way?"

She looked at him again, smile spreading over her face. "'Chuckles'?"

Solas, from the other side of the fire, cut in. "A clever nickname, Master Tethras. I thank you."

"It's not like he never smiles, Varric," agreed Tony. Then, she lowered her voice to whisper, "I think he's embarrassed about his dimples."

Varric looked up at her, barely hiding a grin. "He has _ dimples?" _

Solas sat up straighter, affronted. "I am right here."

Tony quickly nodded to Varric, but decided to change the subject. "I think I'm still trying to piece things together. Solas, thanks so much for today--you've been incredibly patient."

He tilted his head, a kind of shoulderless shrug. "Not at all. I find it fascinating to discuss reality with someone who has a unique perspective."

She couldn't tell whether or not he was being a dick, and so had to take the comment at face value. "I'm glad you think so."

He considered her from across the campfire. "However, I must admit, I am far more interested in an exchange. What of  _ your _ world, Antonia?"

Tony took a deep breath and slowly released it. She should have seen this coming--Solas didn't acquire all his knowledge from being incurious. "It's been... thinking about it has been weird." An obvious understatement, but she didn't know what else to say. Her memories of home felt too hot to touch. "Is there something in particular you'd like to know?"

"It is clear that you are an educated person. Was there a focus to your study?"

Somehow, he'd managed to ask the one question that made her smile instead of tear up. "Yeah. Literature, actually. English Lit, but I bounced around."

Varric leaned his elbows on his knees. "I'm listening."

Tony smiled and rolled her eyes, picking at her thumb's cuticle as she thought. "I'm not going to explain this right, but... you know. Who else are you going to ask?" She cleared her throat. "Where I'm from, there's this 'canon' of western literature, and I've studied it for... Jesus, twelve years, more or less. As an amateur, definitely more. Etymology and linguistics, too, but I couldn't get too far in that area beyond the funny anecdotes. Stories as time capsules, I guess. Fiction as a reflection of the time it was written." She winced, and looked to Varric. "That sounds really dry, sorry."

"No, no," he said. "I wouldn't have written  _ Hard in Hightown _ without living in Kirkwall when I did. I can see the connections to be made."

Solas said, "Was it your practice to memorize stories? That is somewhat common here, among the educated."

"Oh," she sighed, blowing out her cheeks. Once upon a time, she would have bragged about her strength of recall, but that was before she'd completely forgotten what had happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. "I mean, probably. Not often on purpose, but when you write a dozen pages about a single love poem, you're gonna--"

There was a clatter from Cassandra's tent, metal on metal, like a sword clattering against a sheath. In seconds, she appeared with a wool coat tugged over her shirt, breastplate clearly left inside. Without preamble, she sat on the edge of the log Solas had previously occupied alone.

A beat of silence. Then, Varric said, "Hey, there, Seeker."

"You studied," she said, then started again. "I heard from my tent--you studied the poetry of your world?"

Tony looked at Solas, but he'd gone blank again, the way a surprised tortoise would retreat into its shell. "Yeah," Tony said slowly. "I did."

Another silence. Cassandra simply stared at Tony, waiting for... something.

Tony cleared her throat. Instead of asking the obvious,  _ What do you want? _ She asked, "Is there something in particular you'd like to hear, Seeker Penteghast?"

"Oh, anything," she said, bizarrely nonchalant. At Tony's incredulity, she said, "I am curious. Is that so bizarre?"

Maybe not. Tony would certainly be curious about a Martian's favorite poem, if given the opportunity to wonder. So, Tony cleared her throat, and prefaced her recitation by saying, "This one's by one of the most famous poets who ever wrote in English." Taking a moment to order the words, she began.  _ "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun..." _

When she finished, Solas was smiling, the dimple in his cheek deepened by the shadows the fire made. "Let us hope his lady shares his sense of humor."

"I've gotten kicked out of bed for less," agreed Varric.

"That was beautiful," said Cassandra, voice slightly breathless. "Who wrote that?"

"His name was William Shakespeare. He lived hundreds of years ago. And," she added, "if you want beautiful, you're gonna want Sonnet 18."

Cassandra's eyes were sparkling. Tony couldn't help smiling back. Who would have thought?

Tony said, "Would you like to hear--"

"Yes," said Cassandra. Then, a bit pink in the face, she added, "Please."

Tony took a moment to savor the feeling of having such an interested audience, and then began.  _ "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely, and more temperate..." _

By the end of it, Cassandra had her mouth behind both of her hands, as if holding in her voice.

Tony cleared her throat, feeling the embarrassed pleasure coming off of Cassandra in waves. "I know more, but I--it's easiest for me to remember things by writing them down, and I don't want to mix up words and ruin the meter."

"Oh," sighed Cassandra. "Then, maybe tomorrow...?"

Tony, heroically, did not laugh. Instead, she nodded. "More love poetry, or something else?"

"I vote love poetry," said Varric. "This has been very educational, Tony."

Cassandra nodded, as did Solas. Tony raised an eyebrow at the latter, but he only said, "It is a popular subject for a reason."

"Love poetry it is," said Tony. "Shakespeare has hundreds, not that I know them all. And Neruda doesn't always rhyme in translation, but he's amazing."

"I look forward to it," said Cassandra, clearly understating.

-

The next night was more Shakespeare, and the night after that, Yeats. Solas seemed oddly particular about what a poem should be--namely, highly rhythmic, structured in couplets, and about classic things like love or valor. Varric didn't mind blank verse, but he took issue with some word choices--"If a poet uses 'said,' he's leaving money on the table." Cassandra absorbed it all, the more saccharine, the better.

"Do you have a favorite?" Cassandra asked after letting Tony write in her journal for an hour or so. This had become the routine; without that hour of writing, Tony didn't feel confident enough to recite anything.

"I do," said Tony, immediately hesitant. "I don't think you'd like it."

"Oh?" Cassandra scooted closer to Tony. "Why not?"

Tony sighed through a smile. How to explain? "It's a love poem," she began, "by an incredible poet, but it's... I just don't think you'd like it, that's all." Tony looked at Cassandra's eager expression and realized she'd said that all wrong. "I'm not trying to be a tease, Seeker Penteghast. I'm being serious."

Varric and Solas were leaning over the fire, Varric stoking it and Solas ladling out his dinner from the pot. Varric said, "You've gotta tell us now. It'd be cruel not to."

Shit. Tony scratched her scalp, feeling awkward. "This sort of--it's related to something I don't know a lot about, in terms of Thedas and the Chantry."

Solas sat on her other side. "It is critical of religion?"

"Maybe?" She closed her journal and closed her bottle of ink. "I don't know enough about Andrastian teachings to say."

"I can answer your questions," suggested Cassandra. "I was raised and educated in line with the Chantry."

Tony winced. "That's... I think that's worse." She picked at the dull end of her quill, thumb rubbing the tiny remnant of feather there. "What I'm saying is, it's a bit--it's, uhh. Sexual?"

Awkward silence, absent for the past few days, returned with a vengeance to their tiny camp. Solas began to eat his dinner in silence; he might as well have been sitting alone. Varric coughed. Cassandra wasn't quite frozen, since her blood had to move to color her face that red.

"This is what I mean," continued Tony, tone exasperated. "I didn't grow up here; I don't know how taboo sex is. In California, sex is incredibly taboo, but only in some situations--we flip-flop between extremes depending on a bunch of different factors. I know y'all  _ have _ it, because you aren't the only human, dwarf, and elf I've seen, but I--believe it or not," she said, almost laughing at herself, "I was trying _ not  _ to make you uncomfortable."

"It depends," said Solas, voice light and nearly monotonous, "on the culture, of course. However, as you can no doubt guess, it is considered a sensitive topic to many."

"I figured," said Tony. "And Seeker Pentaghast, you basically grew up in a Chantry, so I thought, you know, maybe not."

"I am not a child," she said. She was pink-faced, but determined. "The other poetry you have shared has been wonderful. I would like to hear a poem you particularly enjoy."

Tony sighed, and focused on the fire. The light from the flames dimmed everything else, and made it easier for her to talk. "If you get embarrassed, it's your fault," she warned. When no one spoke up, she continued. "This one doesn't have a title, and it's by a man named Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī. He was born a long, long time ago, in a country that my country... doesn't like." Cassandra made a frustrated noise at Tony's censorship. "That my country is trying to destroy," she amended. "And I don't agree with that, and I--that's not what we're talking about right now, and it's a long story, anyway. All I should say is, Rūmī was a scholar, a poet, and a religious man, and his writing..." She picked at a loose thread in her trousers, searching for the words. "He was a deeply spiritual person, and he saw his love for someone else to be equal to his love for God. He felt so deeply, all the time, about everything. I don't speak the language he wrote in, so I just know the translations, but..."

Tony paused, and Solas spoke up. "But they resonate regardless."

"Yeah." Tony cleared her throat, and recited:

_ “Without you the instruments would die. _

_ One sits close beside you. Another takes a long kiss. _

_ The tambourine begs, Touch my skin so I can be myself. _

_ Let me feel you enter each limb bone by bone, _

_ that what died last night can be whole today. _

_ Why live some soberer way, and feel you ebbing out? _

_ I won't do it. _

_ Either give me enough wine or leave me alone, _

_ now that I know how it is _

_ to be with you in constant conversation.” _

The group took a moment to consider the words. Varric was the first to speak: "That's it? I thought it'd be dirtier, you ramped up to it for so long."

Solas shook his head. "It is powerful, but it is not what many would consider true poetry."

Tony huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I know. 'It doesn't even rhyme! What's the point?'"

A line formed between his brows. "It is not so simple."

"I know," repeated Tony. Steeling herself, she looked to Cassandra.

Cassandra did not look scandalized. She was staring into the fire, as well, deep in her own thoughts. Sensing Tony's gaze, she looked up, eyebrows raised. "It is powerful," she agreed. "And... it is almost sad."

"It's an ultimatum," said Tony. "He can't love less than absolutely." She shrugged. "That's what I take from it, anyway."

Cassandra considered her. "You are a very romantic person, Lady Antonia."

Tony was shocked into laughter. "I--what? Okay."

Varric leaned forward. "Hey, if you ever want to publish any of these under your name, I know people."

Cassandra turned on him, furious. "Don't be crass, Varric."

He held up his hands. "What? Not all of us can be independently wealthy, Seeker. Anyway, who's gonna call her out? Shakespeare?"

Relieved, Tony leaned back. Solas finished his dinner, and quietly put his bowl aside. He said, "It is not simply structure that concerns me."

"I  _ know, _ Solas," she insisted, "but you still like a rhythmic meter, and there's nothing wrong with that, but it's hard to make work in translation." She blinked, realization dawning. "Does--what does the Elven language sound like?"

He looked at her, quizzical. "As opposed to what is referred to as the 'common tongue?'" He looked up, searching for inspiration. He gestured to a tree-- _ "Adhal." _ Where the sun had set-- _ "Elgara."  _ To her-- _ "Falon." _

She smiled, feeling somehow victorious. "One-two, one-two. You know, Spanish--my other language--it has a different rhythm to English, or the common tongue, or whatever. If it's your first language, the rhythm of other languages sounds wrong. Like a waltz when you were expecting, I don't know, a two-step." Solas simply looked at her, waiting patiently for her to make her point. "What I mean is, I think you might like sonnets because they use the same structure as Elvish, even though the language they're written in doesn't have the same rules. A happy accident, maybe."

He considered her. "Or the poetic structure to which you refer was invented to be used in Elvhen."

Tony nodded. "That would make a lot of sense. It was never meant for modern English, back home--it was an ancient invention, we just sort of--" she mimed shoving something into an overfull suitcase. "You know?"

He dimpled at her. "I do."

-

Tony was not accustomed to night watches, but she was accustomed to getting six hours of sleep at maximum, so it was not too difficult of a transition. She preferred taking the latest watch, meaning she'd be up to watch the sun rise over the pine trees. One morning, she'd been distracted from her writing by simply staring at the trees, wondering how they could really be Earth-like pines--how was that possible? Were there blueberries in Thedas, too? Were there lions, and tigers, and bears? In the pre-dawn light of day, she couldn't shut out the questions in her mind.

Perhaps her arresting curiosity was due in part to fatigue. She was unaccustomed to walking miles for days on end, and it was starting to affect her dreams.

Her dreams, tinged in the same sickly green as the Breach, had become chaotic and strange. Upon waking, she would remember them only in flashes: corpses, fires, high towers made of stone. 

The only dream she could remember in more detail was one where Solas visited again. He looked up at the stone towers in her mind, visibly unimpressed. "A poor representation of the Temple," he said, as if she'd submitted her dream for him to grade.

"Is this not an incredibly invasive thing to do, in your culture?" Tony, wearing a full suit of plate armor, put her hands on her hips. "Because it is in mine. What are you doing here?"

He stood at the base of an enormous green bonfire, hands behind his back, posture relaxed. "I have been eager to resume our conversation about dreams and reality," he said. "I thought, perhaps, you had put it from your mind, believing it to be a more mundane occurrence."

Tony clanked and huffed at him. "Hello, Solas," she said, adopting an exaggerated casual air. "I had a dream about you, the other night. No, not that kind. Anyway, what do you have to say for yourself?"

He frowned. She could practically read his thoughts through his eyes--confusion, then realization. His eyebrows raised to a hairline that wasn't there. "Ah."

"I didn't think you'd take silence as an invitation to do it again, either." She crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

"I did not anticipate your reaction," he said. He sounded annoyed about it.

She shrugged. Clink, clink. "Why'd you think you'd be able to?"

His frown deepened, eyes flicking down to her platemail. "If you dislike wearing armor so much, why do you insist upon it here, of all places?" At her visible incomprehension, he sighed. "We are in the Fade, Antonia. This continuous torture of yourself is purposeless."

If Tony hadn't seen magic before, she would have laughed at him. As it was, Solas was the authority on so many things, and he'd given her no reason to doubt him about this. He was pushy, and haughty, and had what could most charitably be described as "boundary issues," but he hadn't lied to her about anything so far.

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and remembered.

There was a bar in the city, right on Market street, that had a typewriter in the window. It was too expensive to go very often, but sometimes they'd have singers all dolled up to look like Julie London or Peggy Lee, singing smokey songs that transformed the room into a speakeasy, making the money worth it. Red curtains along the walls, white leather chairs, brass fixtures and low lights. No windows--the only way in was down, down, down a red-carpeted staircase, leaving the noise of San Francisco up and away.

Tonight, there was a live band, all suited up and kitted out. The lead singer of a trio was dressed in a champagne-colored dress. Tony sat at the bar, rolling up her shirtsleeves, and listened to the woman start to croon:  _ "Stars shining bright above you..." _

She strode behind the bar and tossed a fluffy white towel over her shoulder. She looked over the shelves of bottles in front of her, trying to place every single label. She'd heard that it was impossible to read in dreams, but here, she didn't seem to be having any trouble.

The barstool behind her creaked as someone sat down. She turned and saw Solas in the clothes she'd imagined for him: pinstriped trousers, white shirt. No vest, no tie--no need; it was late, and she literally couldn't imagine him wearing something so stuffy and formal. Simple lines on broad shoulders. If it wasn't broken, she wasn't gonna fix it.

"Impressive," he said, unbuttoning his own cuffs. "Though all you have truly accomplished is a signal to Desire that you are potential prey."

"Thanks, Solas," she said, smiling falsely. "How nice. What'll ya have?"

He gave the offerings a quick glance. "What would you recommend?"

"Depends." She moved to the sink behind the bar, washing her hands in preparation of serving him. "What would you like to see? Sweet? Strong? Complicated?"

He was not paying attention, looking away from the bar to scan the room. She tried to see what he saw: opulence, tight clothing, whinnying laughter from drunks. He asked, "Is this place important to you?"

She tilted her head to one side and then the other, considering. "Yes and no? Mostly, it's just the first place that came to mind." She picked up a cardboard coaster, spinning it in her fingers before dropping it in front of him. "Feels weird to know I'll never be back."

He hummed, eyes now on the performers. When he caught on to the words they were singing, he sighed.

"Come on," she urged. "You think it's funny."

"I think it is ridiculous," he said, but his voice had no edge to it. 

He still hadn't ordered anything, so she set about making herself something strong, dropping whatever struck her fancy into a Boston shaker.  _ "Sweet dreams that leave all worries--" _

"I can hear her perfectly well, Antonia." 

She picked up the shaker and made a racket with the ice, just to be annoying. She could not feel the cold, but she could see the steel fog up. "Are you seriously not going to apologize to me?"

He looked at her, surprise plain on his face. "Apologize?"

She took a moment to let the angry urge to paint him with her drink settle, and began straining her concoction into a rocks glass. "You come into my dreams without asking," she said. "Twice. You say that my nightmares are boring, which is rude, I don't care where you're from. You, I _ guess, _ decide to teach me about lucid dreaming in the Fade by insulting what I show you. There's gotta be a way for you to make your point without being such an asshole, Solas." She glared at him. "What  _ is  _ your point?"

As she'd explained, his mouth had pursed into a thin line. He looked away from her into the crowd that she had conjured, no doubt silently judging what she'd done with the lights. She took a nothing-sip of her nothing-drink and turned her frown to the shiny bar.

"There is so much you do not know," he said, finally. "The Fade has been the focus of my studies for nearly all my life. To see you use it as you have been--in nightmares and sadness--when it can be so much more... It disappointed me." He had a glass of ruby red wine in his hand, now, and he considered it, his long, pale fingers wrapped around the bowl. "You have more control than you may realize."

She felt like they were having two different conversations. "Sorry for, what, not using the Fade like you do? For being confused about a brand new thing in a slew of brand new things? If you don't tell me what you want, of course I'm going to disappoint you."

"You are unique in this world," he said. Coming from him, it didn't sound like a compliment.

"Which makes your expectations even more doomed," she countered. "Wanna tell me what's got a hypothetical bee in your proverbial bonnet, Solas? Or do I have to guess?"

"You are the victim of a terrible mistake," he said, voice sharp. He brought his glass to rest on the coaster Tony'd given him, something dark in his eyes. "Whatever happened at the Conclave, no one expected that it would summon a being from an entirely different world. The way you interact with the Fade, the way you interact with the people here--it is..." He caught her eye, and the intensity of his gaze nearly frightened her. It was a mask she had not seen him wear. Or, perhaps, it was what he looked like when his mask was no longer on. "While you were unconscious, I studied the mark on your hand, as well as your connection to the Fade. It was, and is, unlike anything I have seen before."

Tony looked at him. She took in his flinty expression, the hunch of his shoulders, his elbows resting on the bar. She looked out beyond him, considering the shades she'd used to populate this dream. When she returned her eyes to him, he no longer looked so angry, but there was still a crease between his eyebrows.

"I had thought you Tranquil," he confessed. "Yet here you are, manipulating the Fade with the expertise of a highly skilled mage."

Clearly, he wanted something. Clearly, he wasn't going to get it from her. Not like this.

"Where I'm from," she said, voice false and light, "I wouldn't answer any questions without a warrant."

He said, "Why do you hide your magic?" It sounded like an accusation. "Your mark is not the sole source of magical energy within you, and yet I have never seen you cast, not even in self-defense."

Mentally, Tony hit a wall. Magic, on top of everything else? There was only so much crazy she could reasonably be expected to swallow. "I'm not a mage," she said, exasperated.

"You are," he insisted. "How could you not know? Can you not feel it?"

She moved to the POS and pushed a few buttons on the screen, erasing his bill. "Drinks are on me. You can find your own way home, right?"

He boggled at her. "You are paying? Here?"

"Seemed like the right thing to do." She gave Solas a curt nod. "In case this hasn't been made clear to you already: do not come back into my head. You are not invited." She took a step back. "See you in the morning."

As she walked up the stairs back to the street, the lights and colors faded behind her. She did not look back to see if the barstool dematerialized with Solas still on it, but she really fucking hoped it did.


	4. LARPing as a Folk Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please note that this chapter contains the graphic depictions of violence mentioned in the tags.

Tony was up the next morning for her watch without needing to be roused by someone else. After she had left the San Francisco bar in her mind, she'd found sleep difficult to maintain. Without the Breach visible in the sky to give her motivation, the soggy, misty forest wasn't the distraction she needed it to be. She looked out into the trees, clutching her cloak closer around her, and lost herself in thought.

She didn't have enough information, was the thing. She didn't know if all elven apostates were so persnickety and rude, nor could she guess what Solas might want her to do. Putting herself in his shoes was impossible, and not only because he didn't wear them.

Last night's dream stuck with her, and she began worrying at it like a loose tooth. As the sun broke over the distant horizon and gradually lit the sky, she tried to think of what she might say to him to ease the tension she knew would be coming that morning. He was the sort of person who would maintain silence unless he could think of the right thing to say; that was the only thing she knew about him, really. She frowned at a specific leaf on a tree branch, wondering if she had the ability to freeze it solid from where she sat.

There was a rustle in the darkness, and thought instantly fled Tony's mind. In its absence, fear thrummed through her. She held her breath, ears straining, trying to hear anything to make sense of the noise. Feeling manic, she envisioned a single fluffy bunny being the cause, and tried to make herself relax. When she heard another rustle, accompanied by a strange glint in the darkness, she knew it could be no bunny. Unless bunnies in Thedas wore armor and stalked their prey.

"Cassandra," she whispered. Then, regaining her voice, she called, "Cassandra!"

Tony didn't know what "keeping watch" meant, beyond being bored and having a few hours alone. Now that there was a genuine concern, she was angry with herself. She should have asked. They should have made contingency plans. There should have been a code word that meant, "I saw something, and maybe it's nothing, but I'm terrified."

Within seconds, Cassandra was out of her tent, sword in hand and frown on face. The early dawn acted as a smoke machine, making her scruffy appearance look far more dramatic. "What?" Her voice was rough with sleep. "What is it?"

Tony pointed. "A glittering something. There."

"Get in the tent," said the Seeker. At Tony's confusion, she explained, "Wake the others and stay out of sight."

Grateful for clear instructions, Tony moved to the men's tent. There was no door to knock on, which hadn't occurred to her. She didn't want to just rush in--but this was an emergency, wasn't it? Or was it just a precaution? Maybe Tony was simply tired and thought she'd seen something, or--

Something in the trees growled, then yelled. A man's voice, and angry.

Tony rushed into the men's tent. "Rise and shine! Emergency! Wake up!"

Neither Varric nor Solas were fully naked, nor even mostly undressed. Before Tony's eyes could fully adjust to the darkness, both men had their weapons out and were crouched on their cots. Solas was the first to speak. "What has happened?"

Before Tony could explain, there was the crash of steel on steel outside. Tony jumped, feeling shaky. "I saw something," she blurted. "In the woods. Cassandra's fighting." She shook her head, annoyed with herself. She knew that she was messing this up, and Cassandra was alone, out there. "Please help?"

Solas and Varric left the tent, both looking determined and capable. Tony crossed her legs, laced her fingers together, and waited.

The sounds of combat seemed louder than they had up the mountain near the Temple. Maybe the snow had muffled them, or the shock. Not seeing the fighting was awful, as well--not being able to know whether the grunting and clanging was good or bad, or whether the hiss of fire was aimed at their raiders or her current hiding place. All Tony could do was remain where she was, straining to hear the voices of her travelling companions, praying to a God she wasn't sure she believed in for their safety.

After untold minutes, there was a final squelch, and someone heaved a sigh. Varric said, "Not my favorite kind of wake-up call."

Tony heard footsteps in the dirt, then squinted as the flap of the tent let in the thin sunlight. Cassandra was silhouetted against the dawn, frown still firmly in place. "It is done," she said. "Are you hurt?"

Tony shook her head. "Are you?"

"No. Nor are the others."

Tony clambered out of the tent and took in the new layout of the camp. Her gaze snagged unwillingly over five dead bodies. Two looked to be mages, staves still in their hands and spellbooks open to the wind. Three were armored, and one had an enormous shield, as big as a car door. Even in the low light, she could see the flaming sword engraved on its front.

"The Templars thought we were with the mages," said Cassandra, wiping down her sword with a bit of cloth. "And the mages did not wish to talk."

Tony breathed through her mouth, dreading the scent of their blood. A misunderstanding. That's all this had been. One misunderstanding, and five people were dead.

Two hours later, those first losses barely seemed worth remembering.

The trees thinned as the ground sloped up, and Tony could see smoke in the distance. Bodies, as well--speed bumps with arrows sticking out of their clothes, or greasy stains in the dirt. One person had been shattered, frozen solid and then struck. It had started to melt, and only a leg was still encased in the ice. The rest had turned into bloody sludge.

At the top of a rise was an Inquisition camp, the eye-sun-sword banner fluttering in the breeze. Tony met Scout Harding, a beautiful dwarf with long chestnut hair up in a complex, braided bun. She had freckles, and a nose that had a bit of snub to it. Tony focused on these features, trying to dismiss the ringing in her ears.

"Harding?" Varric smiled. "You ever been to Kirkwall's Hightown?" Dozens of people were dead, but he could still come up with a joke.

Tony exchanged a few words with Harding, but had she been asked after, she couldn't have said what they were. Her memory was snagged on the people left to rot on the hillside. As they descended into the madness of the valley, Solas drifted away from Cassandra and Varric to walk beside her.

It took Tony a moment to remember why she might care about that. It wasn't even noon, and yet the dream felt like it had happened days ago.

"They have seen such destruction before," he murmured. She could barely hear him over the shouts in the distance. The ringing of swords against armor. The sounds of battle, she realized. They were headed into a battlefield.

Tony focused on breathing and putting one foot in front of the other. "That's horrible." Solas glanced at her, not understanding. "No one should have to be used to this."

He looked forward, into the smoky distance. "Their experience has hardened them. Given them protection against pain."

"They aren't crabs," she snapped. Solas' next glance was longer, and more confused. Tony bit out a short sigh. "I mean--if it were necessary, that would be one thing. But it isn't. None of this should be happening in the first place."

Solas' brow furrowed. "You mean to say the mages should not have rebelled?"

Her anger was sudden, and difficult to keep down. "I mean to say that death is unacceptable, no matter who's dishing it out. Don't put words in my mouth, please."

Again, she watched him retreat into his blank shell. They continued to move side by side, but he did not try to speak with her. As they descended into chaos, he cast a barrier around them both, and began to destroy any who would approach them with violence.

The tent had been awful, but this was nearly unbearable. Solas' barrier was like misted glass, giving the battlefield another layer of smoky confusion as Tony crouched low to the mud. Still, she could see the destruction, and she found she could not close her eyes to it. She saw blood pulled from a man by an upward sweep of Cassandra's sword, the arc of it glittering with red. She saw Varric pin a mage to his neighbor with a crossbow bolt, and how both people fell into a puddle of icy muck, unable to untangle themselves before a Templar brought his sword to their necks. She saw Solas, face expressionless, summon ice from the ground up, turning a Templar from a raging murderer into a statue of the same.

Tony began to count. Not bodies, but seconds, some measure that time was passing. She counted her breaths, and considered how many fingers she had, how many knuckles. A man screamed, then sputtered, drowning from a cut throat. She did not close her eyes, but she did not truly see him fall.

Time passed, and the massacre became a victory. Solas did not carry Tony, but he did follow her as she stumbled into the newly-acquired Inquisition camp at the Crossroads. She sat on a wooden crate and considered her boots. They weren't her Doc Martens. They were made of brown leather, and the left one was half a size bigger than the right. Whose boots had these been, before? Had she been wearing a dead woman's clothes this whole time? Where had the cloak Cassandra had found for her come from, if not from off a corpse?

Solas stood by her. Tony did not need to look up to know that he was scrutinizing her. She didn't know what he was looking for, and didn't feel like asking. After a moment, he released a breath, almost a sigh, and went to confer with Cassandra.

Tony looked at her nails. She would need to cut them, soon, and she didn't know what tool to use. Tiny scissors, maybe? Were those common, here? She didn't want to have to chew them shorter, not when they had so much mud hardening under them. She considered the problem until her heart stopped pounding in her ears--seconds or minutes, she couldn't be sure.

"Hey." This was Varric, approaching her after talking with an Inquisition agent. "Tony. You okay?"

She inhaled, counted to five, then let it go. What a question. "I will be," she promised. She didn't know if time would make a liar out of her. "What's up?"

He pointed up an incline. Tony saw a few people dressed in the red and white of the Chantry, as well as a few people resting on cots. "Mother Giselle," he said. His eyes flicked over Tony's face and shaking hands. "When you're ready."

Tony nodded. Then, as if from far away, she moved her face to make a smile. "Thanks. And--thanks."

Varric smiled back at her, an eyebrow quirked. "Why, and why?"

"For pointing her out, and for..." She pulled her eyes back into focus. Varric was taller than her, like this. "Protecting me. Keeping me safe, all the way here. I know I'm useless in a fight."

He shook his head, smile going soft. "I thought we'd gone over this already. You close the rifts and go to the meetings, and Bianca and I handle the wet work." 

Tony felt more grounded by the second. "I'll bet you say that to all the extraterrestrials who close holes in the Veil."

"So far," he agreed. He took a step back and nodded to her. "Good luck with the Chantry Mother."

She nodded her thanks instead of voicing it for the third time in a row.

When Tony managed to approach Mother Giselle, it was to see the woman crouched by the cot of a severely wounded man. She exchanged a few words with him, but Tony was too far to hear whether they were words of encouragement or a final blessing. She watched as the woman rose from her knees, cataloguing the intricate hood she wore and the complex gold embroidery of her clothes. She looked like the cleanest person in the Hinterlands.

Tony took in the dramatic lines of Mother Giselle's whimple, and focused on the face framed by the fabric. It was lined with age, brown, and outwardly kind. "You," said the Mother, "must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste."

If that was the reason why Tony had led everyone into danger, she was going to be pissed. "Yes. Some people are saying that."

Tony focused on watching this one woman, tracking her eyes as her gaze broke from Tony's. This was easier. Battlefields were all confusion and death, but this conversation, this bizarre negotiation--this, Tony could handle.

"I know something of the Chantry," said the Chantry Mother, apparently adept at understatement. "I know the people who wish to turn this situation to their advantage."

Tony blinked. "The mage uprising?"

The mother shook her head. "The passing of the Divine. There are many who would speak against you in order to gain favor. Many wish to become the next Divine. The Conclave..." Mother Giselle looked down, then back over the many cots. The many people who lay in the cots, blood-stained and quaking. She said, "It was a great loss. A loss that beget further losses."

"You believe that the Chantry could have prevented this." Mother Giselle looked back at Tony, confusion flickering over her face. Tony said, "I don't know what you've heard about me. I'm not, uh. Faithful. The power of the Chantry is kind of--it's news, to me." Fatigue crested over Tony, and she gave up on constructing a persona. "I know that the mages and the Templars are fighting, and I know that there's a hole in the sky. Holy Mother, what would you ask that I do?"

Mother Giselle turned to Tony, shoulders squared against the wind. "I have heard much about you," she said. "There are many stories, most of them easily ignored. But I believe in the mercy of the Maker. If I were to ignore the signs, what sort of Mother would I be?"

If there were a standard Chantry response to that, Tony did not know it. "A logical one," she said. "Nothing about my presence here makes sense."

It wasn't a joke, but it made the Mother smile. "When I contacted the Inquisition, I simply meant to meet you," she said. "Now, I have been satisfied. However, if you do wish to accept my advice--go to Val Royeaux. Speak with the faithful, there." She smiled, soft and, yes, motherly. "The Chantry is not the united front that you, perhaps, imagine."

"Val Royeaux," Tony repeated. Mother Giselle nodded. "Thank you."

The Chantry Mother considered her for another long moment. Tony wondered what she saw. Borrowed clothing? Untamed curls? After a few seconds, Mother Giselle said, "I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana with the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering."

_ Sister, _ thought Tony.  _ Sister. Leliana is a nun?  _ "I--thank you, Mother Giselle. I appreciate your support."

Mother Giselle left Tony, returning to her rounds among the wounded. Tony took a moment to collect herself. Then, she moved back down the incline to her pack, and recovered her journal, ink, and quill.

There were no rifts at the Crossroads, and therefore no clear job for Tony. Cassandra was talking with an Inquisition agent, and Varric and Solas were speaking with the refugees. Still, Mother Giselle had asked specifically to meet Tony, and had given her advice on how to proceed. That implied Tony had some amount of status, here, and could be relied upon to help. There were people who expected Tony to do something, be something, more than just the one with the magical hand.

Again, she asked herself: what would the  _ real _ Herald of Andraste do?

The answer felt obvious. Tony found an unmanned pile of wooden crates. She walked up the boxes as though they were stairs, and called out to the murmuring people of the Crossroads. "Greetings from Haven! I am Antonia Gonzalez, and I am here to help. Tell me what you need, and I will note it down and inform the Inquisition. No problem too small, no request too ridiculous--not all will be answered, but all will be listened to. Greetings from Haven! Come and tell me of your needs."

Tony stepped down from the top of the crates, pulled up a crate-chair, and arranged her journal on her crate-table, quill at the ready. She was no fighter, but she could do this. Even if no one took her up on her offer, at least she'd offered at all.

After a minute's silence and confusion, an elven man approached her. "Please," he said, voice worn from use even though the day was yet young. "My wife. She can't breathe."

Tony brought her pen to paper. "What's wrong?"

"She needs a potion," he said. As he explained, a human woman took up a spot in line behind him. "My son, Hyndel--he's joined the cult up in the mountains, but he's the only one who can make it. If she goes too long without it, she'll die."

Tony scratched out her clumsy attempt at Thedosian runes and began to write notes in English. "Right. Your name? Her name? Also--go talk to Solas, that's the mage over there. He knows more of magical healing than I do." She noted all the information she could, then sent the man off with a smile. "Next."

"Hepheba," said the human woman. "And my son--I haven't seen him since the Conclave--"

_ Hepheba, _ Tony wrote. She looked up from her notes and gave the woman a gentle smile. "Please, tell me about your son. What was he doing at the Conclave?"

"He was a scribe." The woman looked half a breath from tears. "Please. I--I need to know what happened to him."

"I will ask," said Tony, feather quill skating across the paper. "Do you have an address?" The woman looked blankly confused. Tony considered how to explain, then asked, "Where do you live, and how might a message reach you there?"

Comprehension dawned. "Lake Luthias," she said. "On the Northern shore, past the old water wheel, but--it isn't safe, I don't know when I'll be..."

"If you have the means, I suggest moving to Haven. It's better fortified than here, and if you need food or shelter, I'm sure there's a job you could do for us."

She failed to hide a dubious expression. "Haven... it is several days away on foot, isn't it?"

"Mother Giselle is planning to relocate. Maybe ask her how she means to get there?" Hepheba nodded and stepped away from the desk. She was immediately replaced by a human man with a mustache like a walrus. "Hello, Ser. May I have your name?"

"Tobias," he said. "I've also--my eldest girl was--"

This is how time passed. Tony used her journal to note down two hundred equally deserving questions. She paused only when her pen refused to hold ink. One of the villagers took out a wicked-looking knife and sharpened her quill for her, refusing any payment she offered. "You're doing the Maker's work," he said.

Tony did not know how to respond, other than smiling and nodding.

By the time Tony'd run through everyone, the sun was high in the sky. Cassandra handed her a small square of tack, which Tony ate gratefully, chasing the salty cracker with gulps of water. "Should we head back to Haven," asked Tony, "or keep going?"

"Corporal Vale has tried to make contact with Horsemaster Dennet," said Cassandra, "but he too requires a personal visit from the Herald, it seems."

Tony shrugged. "Whatever blows his skirt up." At the Seeker's disapproving squint, Tony winced. "Sorry. I'm tired, I think."

"That is unsurprising." She looked down at Tony's notes, squinting further. "What manner of cipher is that?"

"English?" She scrawled  _ Cassandra Pentaghast _ in an empty margin. "That's your name."

Cassandra tilted her head, trying to read it upside down. "Truly?"

"It was this or a bunch of misspelled runes."

The Seeker sighed through her nose. "I suppose..." She cut herself off with a shake of her head. "I suppose we should move on quickly. We have been tasked with several petty matters on behalf of the people here."

Tony stood, pushing her hands into the small of her back to make her spine pop. "What were you going to say?"

She watched a flicker of hesitation cross Cassandra's face. The Seeker said, "I was going to say... I suppose it is logical. Should you truly be from another world, that your writing would look so strange."

Tony nearly snorted. "All that poetry, and you still think I'm making stuff up? That's almost flattering."

"I do not know what to think." She stood back, allowing Tony to extricate herself from the crates. However, instead of looking troubled, her eyes had softened. "But I do know that you have done good work, today."

They shared small smiles, and moved back to their group. For the first time in days, Tony didn't feel like a burden.

-

_ To Lady Josephine Montilyet, Commander Cullen Rutherford, and Sister Leliana, Whose Last Name I Do Not Know, And Neither Does Seeker Pentaghast ~~,~~ _ ~~_ Sorry _ ~~

_ Please forgive my spelling in advance. I am still lerning. _

_ Greetings from the Hinterlands. The land here is betiful. There are many mages and Templars killing each other and attmpting to kill us.  _ ~~_ It has been _ ~~ _ Things are preeding apace and I am pleased to report that Master Dennet has agreed to work with the Inquisition, assuming we can help him set up watchtowrs. He is concerned about Grand Theft Equine, and I do not blame him. His horses are very  _ ~~_ nice _ ~~ _ strong. _

_ We are as yet unharmed. I wish to comnd the most industrious Scout Harding and her team. With their invaluable assstanc we have been able to establish several camps west of the river. _

_ Many people at the Crossroads are in need. As they are now under the protection of the Inquisition, I am curious what we could do for them. Lady Josephine, I have had several conversations with Lady Thrnn about provisions and supply lines, though I must still admit ignornce in many areas. Do we have anything to spare? There are refugees everywhere, many with only the clothes on their backs. Mother Giselle is en route to Haven, and I worry that the Crossroads will kenly feel her loss. _

_ I have been getting akuainted with horse riding.  _ ~~_ My thighs _ ~~ _ It has ben interesting. _

_ We intend to return to Haven soon. I will not include the time estimate or route here. Vigilance, advises Seeker Pentaghast. _

_ Thank you for all that you do, _

_ Tony _

_P.S.: Sister Leliana, has there been any prgress with my request about the mark?_ _I ~~admit that~~ ~~I am~~_ ~~_It is_~~ _Any information would be welcome. Thank you._

_ - _

_ To Our Lady Herald, Antonia Artura Dorotea Gonzalez of California, _

_ We thank you for your report, and eagerly await your return to Haven. Our Commander agrees with the Seeker regarding discretion, though I should note that our correspondence is heavily guarded by Leliana's runners. Leliana should not be underestimated--after all, I have known her for years, and I could not even tell you her last name's initial. _

_ I regret that there is such hardship at the Crossroads. At present, our ability to assist the refugees is limited to our posted soldiers. Mother Giselle has arrived, and spoke of her advice to you. Perhaps, should that meeting go well, we would be able to offer more to those whom we protect. _

_ Reports from Scout Harding have been cautiously optimistic. We have you to thank for that, my Lady Herald. _

_ We eagerly anticipate your return to Haven. There is much to discuss. _

_ Your humble advisor, _

_ Josephine Montilyet of the Inquisition _

_ P.S.: Herald, when I have news, you will be the first to know. Walk in the Maker's Grace. --Leliana _

-

All told, Tony and her group did not return to Haven for ten days. There were rifts to close, wolves to root out, demons to kill, and many, many errands to run. Around the campfire, Tony recited Blake, Whitman, and Shelley before she grew bored with poetry and moved on to plays. By the time Tony could see Haven's Chantry in the distance, she'd learned that Solas had absolutely no patience for farce.

"Twins they may be," he said, "but I have never seen a pair of twins who looked as similar as would make Viola's gambit plausible."

"I'll pass that along to William," said Tony.

"And Malvolio--a house steward written to be as stupid as possible. Do all of Shakespeare's plays show the lower classes in such an insulting light?"

"They were written as entertainment for his wealthy patrons, so probably." She gave Solas a smile. "Didn't realize the plight of the proletariat was such a hot-button issue for you."

She watched him try not to roll his eyes at her. It manifested in a twitching muscle in his cheek. "Any man with sense would feel the same."

"Right, right."

This rapport was deceptively easy, considering how awkward Tony still felt around Solas. They'd never discussed that second shared dream, and Tony didn't know how to bring it up. Solas had entered that San Francisco bar with something specific in mind. Tony had to believe that her annoying and then confusing him hadn't been the plan. He hadn't attempted to get back into her mind again, which was good, yet Tony didn't feel like they had any closure. She couldn't wait for Solas to start the conversation, either; he hadn't started any conversations since then, content to hover around blankly and, when asked, say spooky things about the Fade.

Tony waved to the guards posted at the gate, who saluted in return. She bit back a wince.

Solas noticed anyway. "You still are not accustomed to such treatment, Herald of Andraste?"

"I don't think I ever will be." She didn't particularly want to talk about it, though. She pulled her face into a serene expression, and with Solas' musical accent, she said, "Hubris is the sin of heroes, and I do not wish to meet my end crushed under the weight of my own enormous head."

He frowned at her. She smiled back. "I do not sound like that," he said. 

"You do, I'm afraid," she said, still in his voice.

He shook his head, but Tony thought she saw the dimple in his cheek.

Haven wasn't home, but it was a relief to be back anyway. Maybe distance from Solas would help her think of a solution. Tony counted her blessings all the way up the incline to her little cabin: no more early watches, no more hardtack, no more freezing baths in ice melt. She found herself looking forward to seeing Lady Josephine again--she had a million questions, and knew that the Ambassador would have all the answers.

This delicate happiness lasted about twelve seconds.

"Knight-Captain!"

"That is not my title," the Commander snarled. Tony marked his wrathful expression from a distance, and picked up the pace. She didn't want him to lose his head in front of an audience, and he looked to be running low on patience.

Before she got there, Commander Cullen had separated the mages from the Templars, leaving an opening for Tony's favorite person, Chancellor Roderick. The Chancellor clearly enjoyed having the floor, and performed loudly so that everyone could overhear him denounce everything the Inquisition had been working so hard to accomplish.

Pushing down on her annoyance, Tony approached with a smile. "Chancellor," she said, channeling the saccharine attitude she used when dealing with preschoolers. "It's so good to see you again. Staying warm, I hope?"

"Herald," greeted Roderick, sneering as though the word were a curse. "I see you've returned. How did you manage to lead Mother Giselle astray? What promises did you make to her?"

She kept her eyes big and wide, as though she were a terrified Disney princess. "Oh my goodness, why? Is everything all right? What's the matter?"

The Chancellor glared at her. It was obvious that some part of him wished to be a mage, so he might set her on fire just by looking. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Well, if that changes,  _ please _ do not hesitate to come find me. Your comfort is--" The Chancellor made a disgusted noise, turned on his heel, and somewhat stomped away. "Of the utmost importance to me!" Tony called after him. "Lovely as always, Chancellor! Bye-bye!"

This left Tony with Commander Cullen, the two of them suddenly alone in front of the Chantry doors. He watched Roderick's retreating back with an odd expression. Tony took the opportunity to examine the Commander.

If Tony were to be perfectly honest with herself, she'd admit that she'd been looking forward to seeing him again. She knew that was dumb, of course; Cassandra wanted him to be her swordfighting teacher, something she actively didn't want, and sense dictated that she should keep her distance. Still, she liked to look at him. There was no point lying to herself about that.

He was a soldier, though. He wore plate armor that shined in the blue-white light of the winter sun, topped off with a ruff that gave him a mane like a lion. He stood slightly off-center, easily counter-balancing the weight of the weapon on his hip. When he spoke, it tended to be with a sneer or a shout, and there was that scar on his lip that had healed oddly jagged and silver. Him and his damn sword--and when he walked, he  _ marched, _ which was beyond strange to Tony.

_ He's unreal,  _ she thought, and noted his eyes: tawny, like amber. Also a little bloodshot, which worried her. No one should look this tired and be allowed to hold a weapon. He looked just as likely to stab his foot as a hypothetical opponent.

He studied her. "Why do you speak to the Chancellor that way?" It was a question, but his tone was one of demand.

Tony shrugged a shoulder, fighting against her nerves. It wasn't clear whether her internal fluttering was due to his appearance or his residual annoyance. "He hates it," she said. "Was that... is that okay? You looked like--I mean, he was bothering you, so I... um."

Commander Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't say I don't appreciate that he's gone," he said. "But you shouldn't waste your time with him. He's toothless."

"He was bothering you," Tony repeated. The Commander did not say anything to that. Perhaps there was nothing to say. Tony continued, "Anyway, I'm--I know you probably know this, but I've only just gotten back, so--"

"Of course." He nodded to her. "Once you drop off your things, we shall convene in the Chantry's back room."

Tony blinked. She'd been hoping for a bath and a nap, but apparently those things would have to wait. "Right. Uh, see you in there?"

"Herald," he said, dismissing her.

So Tony, hungry, sweaty, and tired, soon stood around that same damn table once again. For a heart-stopping moment, only she and the Commander were in the room. Tony stared at him, mind totally blank of small talk, for almost four seconds. Thankfully, Lady Josephine entered the room and greeted Tony with a smile and a gentle squeeze on her shoulder.

"Don't hug me," said Tony, giving her a grin. "I still smell like the road."

"Nonsense," she said, though she did take a delicate step back. "It is wonderful to see you safely returned, Your Worship."

Leliana was next through the door, followed by one of her agents. "Herald. You've only just arrived--is there something urgent you wished to discuss?"

Tony raised her eyebrows and looked over at the Commander. She watched his face twist with some uncomfortable emotion. Judging by the pink in his cheeks, it was embarrassment. "You must be tired," he said, as if only just realizing it.

So he was just oblivious, then. That was a good flaw to hold onto, in case his face distracted her. Tony shrugged, and addressed the agent flanking Leliana. "Excuse me, what's your name?"

The agent soluted her. "Ernis, my Lady Herald."

"Ernis, would you mind telling Cassandra about this meeting? No rush, though. She already knows a lot of what I'm gonna report." Honestly, there was no reason for Cassandra to attend the meeting at all, but Tony doubted the Seeker would see things that way.

Once the agent left with the message, Tony looked over at the Commander again. Yes, he was definitely embarrassed. Tony sighed, and then addressed Leliana. "I understand that Mother Giselle had some information for you."

"Indeed." She brought her hands behind her back, standing in a formal but relaxed posture, much like the one that Solas favored when he was lecturing. "It is her opinion that your next venture should be to Val Royeaux, to speak with certain sympathetic members of the Chantry. My agents are already en route."

Tony asked, "Do you have any agents at the Crossroads?" Leliana neither nodded nor shook her head, and so Tony continued. "They have a lot of needs, and I didn't feel up to the task of listing them in a letter. Given, uh." She felt her face heat. "How painful that would have been for you to read."

"There is no need for self-consciousness, my Lady," insisted Josephine. "You are new to the language. It was a noble effort."

She managed a small laugh. "That bad?" Josephine made to apologize or clarify, but Tony waved her off. "No, I'm just kidding. Thank you, Lady Montilyet. I'll keep working on it. For now, though," she said, bringing her hands to the button at her throat, "I do have notes, but I'm going to have to read them to you. I wrote them in English."

Josephine perked up. "I would be very interested to see what your language looks like on paper. I have been..." She blinked rapidly, watching Tony's hands as they moved down the buttons of her shirt. "Your Worship?"

Tony left her shirt half-buttoned and reached between her breasts for the roll of paper she'd shoved in there for safe keeping. It took a minute to negotiate the roll out from the pressure of her breastband, but she managed, unrolling them and squinting at them in the low light. "There are a lot of missing people, apparently," she said. "I wrote down their names, as well as the names of the people who were asking about them. There's also the matter of food, which..." She looked up from her notes, surprised not to hear the scratching of quills.

Josephine was staring at Tony's face with such a blank look of politeness, she must have been screaming inside. Leliana had crossed her arms, one hand up to cover her mouth, and was looking at Commander Cullen. Tony could see why; the Commander looked like he was about to explode into flames. He had the sort of skin tone that made blushing incredibly obvious, but even if he hadn't, he was focusing on a wall sconce as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Oh," said Tony. Embarrassment surged through her, followed by annoyance. For fuck's sake, they were just boobs. "I--well! The clothes you gave me don't have pockets. I don't know what you want from me."

"I will be sure to find you more utilitarian clothing," promised Josephine, eyes still firmly on Tony's face. "But for now, would you mind...?"

"Putting them away?" Tony put her notes on the table, where they sprang back into a roll, and re-did her buttons. "Note to self, in Thedas, modesty is key."

"Perhaps," said Leliana, "this is a good time to mention what else my agents have been doing."

Tony tugged her shirt back into place, fully dressed once more. The Commander was still looking determinedly away, so she rapped her knuckles on the table twice. "You're safe, Commander. Sister Leliana, you were saying?"

Commander Cullen, still red-faced, attended to the conversation again. Leliana said, "In your absence, I have been working to find evidence to support your story. That you are not from Thedas; that you are from a world beyond the Veil."

Working to disprove her story, really. Tony had no illusions about that. "And what have you found?"

"Truthfully?" Annoyance furrowed her brow. "You have no family. No social connections. No one saw you enter the Conclave, and no one claims to have seen you before the destruction of the Temple. The resources it would take to enter the Temple without witnesses are beyond the capabilities of any of our known enemies."

Tony picked up her notes again, running her thumb along the ragged edge of the papers. "So either I'm telling the truth, or I'm incredibly bad news for the Inquisition." Her lips quirked. "Or both. I could still be both. No news on the mark transfer front, I'm guessing?"

Leliana considered the map, eyes drifting over the iron markers. "The only people we know of who could have managed such an infiltration are the Qunari," she said. "And while we believe the explosion at the Conclave to have been caused by magic, it is possible that gaatlok powder could have been involved."

The Commander was no longer distracted by breasts. He gave Leliana a stern look. "You're certain?"

Leliana almost laughed. "No. I am nowhere close to certain. However, I cannot ignore the possibility, not after Kirkwall."

Tony looked between the two of them, then leaned over to Josephine. "Hey," she said, voice lowered to a whisper, "Who or what are the Qunari?"

Before Josephine could reply, Leliana continued. "Regardless, you are still the one who bears the mark. You were still seen leaving the Fade, ushered out by what many believe to be Andraste herself. Perhaps I am mistaking shadows for something more sinister, and you are indeed telling us the truth."

Tony pulled a page out from her notes. This was a list of missing persons, separated into three even columns. She offered the curling page to Leliana, who took it with a gloved hand and looked it over. When Leliana looked up, Tony said, "I'm many things, but I'm not clever enough to invent a written language."

The Commander stepped closer to Leliana, peering at the page. The Spymaster handed it to him, and he only hesitated for a second before taking it. Tony bit back a sarcastic comment about cooties. He scanned the page with his eyes, possibly trying to pick out a pattern. "This is a list," he said.

Tony had to smile. "What gave it away?"

He grimaced. "The format. What is it meant to say?"

She held out her hand, and the Commander returned the list to her. "The names of people who haven't been seen since the Conclave. Scribes, mostly--there weren't any nobles at the Crossroads. I'd like to read them out to see if any of them ring a bell." At the Commander's uncomprehending look, she rephrased. "To, uh, see if any of you recognize them. Then, I've got some requests for specific goods, and another list of people who'd like to come to Haven but don't feel safe travelling from the Hinterlands without an escort."

The Commander looked surprised. "An escort?"

Tony nodded. "Like what we set up for Mother Giselle."

"Mother Giselle needed that escort. It was an unusual case. We cannot possibly spare the men to have regular missions to the Crossroads."

She had to remind herself that Cullen had not been there, and couldn't really know how chaotic things had been. "Nobles can take care of it themselves, I'll grant you, but not the villagers I saw. They barely have food, let alone weapons. How can we ask them to come here on their own?"

He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword. She knew, logically, that he was not going to draw it over this, but it still put her on edge. He said, "What they choose to do cannot be our responsibility. Our resources are spread too thin as it is."

Tony shrugged, fiddling with her papers. "Okay. I disagree."

Cullen raised an eyebrow. "I'd worked that out. May I ask why?"

"Marquis DuRellion didn't push his claim to Haven because he recognized that this is a holy site for many people. I don't..." She shook her head. "Can we really call this a pilgrimage without caring for the pilgrims? What was I even--I'd thought I was supposed to be recruiting people."

He narrowed his eyes, but dropped them to the map instead of giving Tony further annoyed scrutiny. "Soldiers and agents, yes. Not refugees. How many men do you imagine we have, Lady Antonia? We can't send agents out to act as bodyguards for every person."

Tony began to read off of her list. "Tobias Cooper's eldest daughter was at the Conclave as a scribe. So was Hepheba Nash's only son. Willard Ashdown's farm has been razed, and he lost everything he had in the fire." She looked up from her list, looking the Commander right in the eye. "The Crossroads is meant to be under the Inquisition's protection. What does that mean, if we cannot help these people?"

He looked right back at her. His face was pale, but it was always pale; his expression was detached, professional. Also, annoyingly enough, still handsome. "If these people made it to the Crossroads, then they may well make it to Haven, as well."

"Maybe," agreed Tony, unable to keep a thread of sarcasm out of her voice. The Commander picked up on it, and his frown deepened. She felt her patience fray. "Everyone's killing everyone, out there, but yeah, maybe. Maybe luck will protect them, since we won't."

His eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Commander," said Josephine, tone almost cloying. "The Herald is doubtless fatigued from her long journey--"

Tony barreled ahead. "If saving lives is an unworthy expenditure of resources, what are any of you  _ doing _ here?"

Cullen had drawn himself up to his full height, posture dangerously perfect. "Picking up the pieces," he said. "Protecting whatever and whomever we can. Our priority must be the Breach. There will be no end to this war until that's dealt with. I understand you may not like it, but there is absolutely no way we can send routine escorts through the Hinterlands as we currently are."

Tony sucked in a breath through her nose. "Right. Sure."

He looked over her expression and clearly disapproved of what he saw. "I do not say this to be cruel, my Lady."

Her patience snapped like takeout chopsticks. "Oh, blow me, Fabio. You'd have more resources if you stopped trying to prove I'm lying to you."

Cullen was scandalized. Red face, mouth open, eyes wide, the whole thing. If Tony were less angry with him, she would have found his cartoonish response funny. As it was, she needed her full concentration to keep herself from shouting.

Josephine looked at her with wide eyes. Leliana said, "You mean for us to take you at your word without question?"

"Of course I don't," she said. "But other than the ridiculousness of my story, have I given you any reason for doubt?"

She watched as three of the four highest ranking members of the Inquisition conferred with each other without speaking. Leliana's face was the only one Tony absolutely could not read. Josephine looked uncomfortable, and clearly wanted to smooth things over with friendly, meaningless chatter. Cullen looked quietly mutinous, glaring at the map with much the same feeling as Chancellor Roderick had levelled at Tony just twenty minutes ago.

"Look," said Tony, tossing her notes onto the table. "I'm tired of being fucked around."

Josephine's eyelashes fluttered as she blinked, visibly surprised. "Your Worship?"

"Yes," said Tony, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Thank you, my Lady, that's exactly what I mean."

Behind her, the door opened. "Forgive my tardiness," said Cassandra. There was a silence as the room adjusted to her sudden presence. Tone heavy with exasperation, she asked, "What have I missed?"

Tony sighed and waved her to close the door. The Seeker did, then took her place beside Tony around the table and the map. "Cassandra," she asked, "do you believe that Andraste sent me here from another world?"

The Seeker stared at her, clearly caught off-guard. After a moment's thought, she said, "I do not know. I know that you can seal the Breach, but as for the Maker's will, I cannot be sure. No one can."

"Right." Tony put her hands on her hips. "Listen, guys. I need you to know that I am not, and will never consider myself to be, the Herald of Andraste. However, I know how much clout that title gives the Inquisition. I know--" She gestured with her hands, outlining the shape of her frustration. "I know that you need me to pretend, so the Inquisition can help with the Breach. But as far as I'm concerned, it's a convenient lie. After all you've done for me, I can deal with it, but it's still... It fucking sucks."

The Commander looked at her with confusion. "'All we've done' for you?"

Tony began counting on her fingers. "Food," she said, "water, healthcare, lodging, education, literal money--I understand that I'm an investment, and when am I gonna be able to pay you back?" She smiled at the idea that any of her skills would be able to earn her a living in Thedas. "Use the Herald thing as much as you want. I understand it's the price I've gotta pay."

Cassandra, horrified, sputtered her disagreement. "No! Lady Antonia, I would never--we would never put you in such a situation."

A laugh burst out of Tony, almost a bark. It rang out in the room like a gunshot. Tony looked around at their faces, surprised by their surprise. "Cassandra," she said, unable to stop her smile from spreading, "sorry, but you actively wanted to kill me when we first met. I was a prisoner, and I'm nowhere near strong enough to prevent you from making me one again. The Inquisition isn't playing  _ the _ Game, but it is playing  _ a _ game, and I'm a useful yet annoying pawn." No one interrupted her, and so she continued. "I'm not an idiot. I want to use my position to help people. If I don't have that leverage, then why am I at these meetings at all? If you don't trust me, keep me in the dungeon and cart me out in chains when there's a rift to close. And don't," she said to Josephine, whose mouth had fallen open in surprise, "say that you'd never do that, because you already have."

"Maker," breathed Cullen. Tony blinked up at him. There was an invisible weight on his shoulders that made him brace against the table. Brow furrowed, he said, "Forgive me. I had not realized the lack of trust was so deep on both sides."

Tony shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. "Have you ever been imprisoned by a militant religious faction? It's memorable."

He twisted his mouth. "Fair point."

"I'm not asking you to believe me about where I'm from, either. I know exactly how stupid my story sounds, and you aren't stupid people. But if you're not going to take my suggestions seriously, why fucking ask for them?"

Josephine looked pained. "There is no need for such language."

"Ambassador Montilyet, you--all of you--sent me into a war zone for  _ days. _ I am being as cordial as I fucking can be, so pardon the occasional curse, please."

"How bad," asked the Commander. He wasn't frowning, anymore. He pinned her with his gaze. "How bad was it?"

Tony stared at him. Out of all the people in this room, he was not the one she had expected to ask her that question. It surprised her, jarring something loose in her chest. It was unsettling, almost painful, as if she'd been bleeding for a while and had only just noticed the cut.

She had to swallow before she answered. "I'd never seen anything like it, but that's not saying much." He tilted his head, a shrug without shoulders. She said, "I just--I want... I can't imagine losing a child at the Conclave. We need to tell them something, if only to let them know for certain who was lost. I'm... They think I was sent by the Maker, Commander. It was..." Whatever anger she had felt had leaked out of her as she'd explained. It took her a moment of searching for the right word before she settled on the obvious one. "Really fucking unnerving, sorry."

He exhaled, and had he been less miserable, it might have been a laugh. "I cannot imagine."

That was not the response of an oblivious person. Tony wanted to shake him, to demand that he explain his whole deal. Instead, she simply sighed. "I want to help. Sincerely, that's all I want. Can we all just accept that I fell out of the sky and move on?"

Leliana made a noise that was the polite cousin of a scoff. Josephine looked at her with helpless eyes, then focused on Tony. "If I may, Your Worship--you say that you wish to move on. In your absence, Leliana and I have been attempting to confirm your story, as you know. We have also been attempting to discover how your transport here might be--potentially, in future, after the Breach is closed--how it might be reversed."

Tony blinked. "Oh." That answered a question, at least. She caught Cullen's eye and smiled. "Is that why?" He looked at her in question. "You seemed pretty eager to have this meeting."

He winced. "I wasn't thinking."

"You were thinking too much, maybe," she said. "Whatever. Anyway, Lady Montilyet..." Cullen seemed concerned about resources. There were too many things to do--too many things that only Tony could do, as far as rifts were concerned--to be thinking about that already. The idea of returning to California immediately left a sour taste in her mouth. After a moment's thought, Tony said, "Let's focus on the Breach, okay? Thanks, but I'm good for now. Or, I will be, once I take a bath or two."

Josephine was smiling again, but it still seemed fragile. "That is almost too generous, my Lady Herald. To devote yourself entirely to our cause... It is an unexpected gift."

Tony didn't remind her that there was no guarantee she was even alive, back home. Instead, she said, "Happy early birthday, then, I guess. Was there anything else, or--meeting adjourned?"

They filed out of the room. Tony approached the Commander, walking by his side as they exited the Chantry. Keeping her voice down with respect to those who were praying, she asked, "Was it that you thought I'd want to get home as soon as possible?"

He looked down at her, surprised about something. He stuttered, then said, "Were I in your position, I would want... That is, I thought it would be a show of good faith. That we have your best interests at heart."

She nodded, and touched him on the arm. "Then allow me to apologize for basically calling you a dick, in there."

He huffed another of those small almost-laughs, but his expression was pained. "We are in a Chantry, my Lady."

Tony nodded, then rushed forward to hold the door open for him. He stepped through, bemused. She said, "Sorry for basically calling you a dick, in there."

The Commander's face seemed caught between a frown and a grin. "I--please go take your bath, Herald."

Tony gave him one pat on the arm, then beelined to her cabin to grab fresh clothes. All in all, not a disaster of a council meeting, but she was nevertheless grateful it was over.


End file.
